New Kid Stories 04: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda
by JustCallMeButtLord
Summary: The New Kid has been given her first job in accordance with her agreement with the US Government, but she's refusing the job! Meanwhile, Bebe is running a fashion show... and Cartman did something right? SINCE WHEN? [Fourth installment of the New Kid series. Rated M for language, violence. Romantic themes include KennyXCis!Female New Kid. Cover image by Cortillaan]
1. Buttlord is Less Than Diplomatic

**HOLY CRAP IT'S TIME FOR ROUND FOUR**

Welcome, welcome, one and all. For those new to these stories, let me extend an extra special welcome to you, as I am beyond pleased to have you. I won't hold you up for long at the top, but to get a few basic notes in.

The **New Kid** in these **New Kid Stories** is a [pansexual] Cisgendered Female who continues to present as male because, according to her, that's socially easier right now. She goes by Dee, but that is not her real name. Wendy and Kenny know she is a girl. Dee and Kenny are romantically involved, but the relationship is a secret. Kenny knows her real name, as does Cartman. Also we're in Middle School now.

 **The fantabulous cover image is drawn by the amazing Cortillaan. They have a Tumblr. LOVE THEM.**

 _ **LAST BUT NOT LEAST:** The author would like to remind everyone that this is my **just for fun project.** I have **not** watched every single episode of South Park. In fact, I'm still back in **season 6** in my marathon of the series, and have seen a smattering of other episodes pretty much at random. I spend a lot of time on **Wikipedia** to try and get characters correct, but **I do not stress over these stories,** so inaccuracies to the canon are bound to happen. I am not striving for perfection here; **I'm here to have fun, and I hope you are, too.**_

 _ON  
_ _WITH  
_ _THE  
_ _FIC_

 _OWTF!_

* * *

 **:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Buttlord is Less Than Diplomatic::**

It was late October in South Park; the height of autumn, with more than a few suggestions than an icy winter was on its way. What few trees that were not evergreen had already made with the bright colors and shed their leaves into inches of snow that had dropped back in September, and thick cloud cover that dropped the occasional flurry had been the order for the past week or so. For this, night skies had been dark, often with only a faint impression of where the moon might had been marked by a dim yellow glow as the lone light. Where starlight failed, however, shining flakes of snow were coming down in heavier clusters, flickering in street lamps on this particular evening. They were veritable galaxy unto themselves, a swirling Milky Way blown about by the stiff autumn wind before they met the ground and drifted against the buildings and sidewalks of downtown South Park.

On a night like this, Mysterion always could rest assured that he wouldn't be seen. He was but a shape on a rooftop, muddled by intervening snowflakes, both unseen and unheard.

That said, the wind was vicious. He really needed to invest in a set of thermal underwear one of these days; sitting still at the edge of a rooftop was a fast way for limbs to start going numb, and his hood was the only thing keeping the flakes out of his eyes. All said, however, he bore it without complaint; tonight's mission was a bit different from the usual work he did, with or without his partners. Usually he defined his _jurisdiction,_ for lack of a better term, as supplementing the local police force of South Park. He blew the whistle on graffiti artists, called in with anonymous tips when he heard threatening rumors; he'd even foiled a couple robberies over the years [though, really, those were rare opportunities]. More than that, when something decidedly _supernatural_ was going on, something the police wouldn't or couldn't address without seeming utterly insane, he tended to go after it himself.

Oh, sure, it was dangerous... but it was hard to worry about life and limb when death was a quick escape hatch back to being safe in his bedroom at home. _Pain_ became the major thing to avoid; suffering like this fucking cold. Sitting on the edge of a roof, wrapped up in his cape, he decided that freezing to death was one of the worst. Not _the_ worst, but definitely top ten; if only because it took too damn long.

But, again, tonight wasn't the usual sort of thing. He wasn't hunting or tracking or listening for something he could use to tip off the cops... he was _watching._ The particular roof he'd camped out on this evening was Skeeter's bar, looking into the back alley behind it. Below him, on the ground, was one of the two partners he worked with on occasion; but she wasn't in costume as Buttlord. No, she was as herself, a few candy-red curls peeking out from a thick fuzzy black hood on her favorite winter coat, shoulders shrugged up and gloved hands shoved deeply into her pockets to try and conserve heat. From up here, he could just barely see the tip of her nose through all the fluff, the clouds of breath more obvious as she huffed against the cold herself.

They were here for a meeting, and he was here to make sure the other party didn't get any _sly_ ideas.

… _assuming they ever fucking show up._

" _No movement yet, I take it?"_

The third member of their little team chimed in, no doubt getting just as impatient... though she at least got to be somewhere _heated_ for all of this.

"Nothing yet." Mysterion reported. "You'd think Government assholes would at least give us a _time."_

" _This feels like a dominance play."_ Call Girl responded from the other side. _"Making Buttlord wait is a reminder of who is in control."_

There was a scoffing sound over the open channel the trio was sharing. Buttlord didn't talk on the party line, but there was certainly a sound of _yeah fucking right_ that was made.

"And we get to wait and freeze... fuck these guys, seriously."

" _Sh-h-hh! I've got movement on the corner camera, someone is coming your way from the west side."_

West- Mysterion's head twisted to the right, same as his partner did an about-face from her original position. Call Girl had placed cameras around the chosen meeting place so she'd be able to warn them if this was a trap; not that these fucktards had been able to _touch_ Buttlord in the past three years, but that was no reason to take chances.

Squinted eyes watched as a pair of men in black suits came around the corner to the back of the building. The idiots were wearing sunglasses; probably part of the uniform, but it no doubt hampered their ability to see even more than Mysterion's with all of this dark and snow. They saw his partner right away, who raised her hands out of her pockets to show that they were empty, purple-gloved fingers wiggling as if she were sarcastically doing jazz-hands.

Already, this was off-script. The message that had been sent said that one agent was coming, not two. Mysterion tensed up. Down below, his partner was pointing, no doubt with a questioning look on her face.

"Don't get your panties in a knot, kid, plans change all the time." One of the agents responded without missing a beat. He sounded confident- no, _cocky._ Certain that he was in control. "The point is, we're here, so let's get down to business, shall we?"

One of her hands shot up; flicking her wrist forward in a predetermined signal that let Mysterion know he was up. He didn't jump down, however. No, they had a number of plans to keep this situation in hand, and the first strategy relied on a little trickery... and a powerful red laser pointer, used to train a ominous red dot on one agent's forehead. They didn't appear to get it at first, but soon Dumb noticed Dumber looked like he had a sniper trained on him, and let out a gasp of surprise before snapping a look over to the young adult who had apparently signaled for armed back-up.

"You were supposed to come alone!" He cried, though his voice seemed pretty ineffectual against all the muffling snow. "Where the _fuck_ does a kid even hire a sniper, anyway?!"

Mysterion couldn't see the look on her face, but he was pretty certain it was somewhere along the lines of _are you fucking kidding me right now?,_ because the agents decided to skip the protest and do what they came for... but all of their attitude had evaporated. The one with the red dot on his forehead, whom Mysterion had dubbed _Dumber_ within his head, drew out a large envelope from his suit jacket and reached out to hand it to the teen they'd come to meet. "Alright, alright... here it is, your first job, straight from the President. Time is of the essence... so... _uh..._ don't drag your feet."

 _Says the assholes who were late._ Mysterion watched as Buttlord ripped the envelope open, pulling out her cellphone to use as a flashlight and read the paper she'd been given- no doubt instructions detailing the job she'd been given and how the government wanted it done. He couldn't see what it said at all; distance and snow made it pretty much impossible to even see the typeface, much less the words.

After a few moments, she put her phone away. Then, with both hands... she ripped the paper to shreds, shoved the torn scraps back into the envelope, and held it out for the agents to take it back... as gesture Mysterion read as _Fuck you guys, I'm not doing this shit._

"What the...? What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, kid?" Dumb took a step forward, snatching the envelope and crushing it inside an upraised fist... which quickly caused the red dot to dart over to _his_ forehead, and his partner grabbed him by the arm while giving him a serious look of _do you_ _ **want**_ _to die tonight?_ Silence stretched the tension, but slowly his fist came back down, and that aggressive step was taken back. "We aren't the people you say _no_ to, kid. We know where you are, now- _asking_ is just a formality. Like it or not, you _will_ do what the President wants- we have ways to make sure of that."

 _Right, and you guys have been trying to capture her for **how** **long**? With zero success? Take a hike. _

Her response was physical, but similar; she flipped the agents the bird, her other hand getting stuffed back into her pocket. Even from the roof, Mysterion could read that posture loud and clear; _Behold my field of fucks; it is barren. Get the hell out of my face._

"Why you snot-nosed _punk!"_

Dumber had snapped, apparently a little more ballsy when he didn't have the red dot of doom on his head and reaching into his suit jacket once more as his feet slid further apart into a stable stance for aiming from the hip and shooting- all while a shiny black pistol was yanked out of a concealed holster. It was a sudden move, sending up a spray of snow that got caught on the wind and made a brief obscuring cloud. Mysterion dove to the side on the roof, unconcerned about a way down but rather _where_ he would jump down; he wanted to get behind these pricks before what was probably a _scare tactic_ to get his partner to behave herself escalated.

The sound of a gunshot came as a surprise to him. It sent horrified adrenaline through his system, head yanking around almost of its own accord as he was half-way down the building, expertly using little protrusions from the brickwork to get himself down to ground level, hands currently fixed about the shaft of a chute for a rain gutter.

However, when he looked, the arrangement of people had changed... and the alleyway smelled like a garbage fire at a sewage treatment plant.

Dumber had his gun out, pointed directly at where Mysterion's partner had been a split second before... a position she'd smartly vacated, and with someone else rather directly in the way- the other government agent. Thankfully, a bullet aimed for a kid's center-chest was a gut-shot for a grown man, and the fraction of extra time it took a bullet to go through a human body was enough for her to _duck and roll_ away from her original position. How had he gotten in the way? Mysterion suspected that _reek_ was one of Buttlord's time-ripping farts, used to stop time long enough to put something between her and a bullet, and then get the hell out of the way.

Of course, that still left Dumber with a ready gun and a wounded partner. If he didn't have just cause before, he had it now.

Mysterion, five feet away from the ground and still clinging to the side of a building, kicked himself away from the wall and twisted in the air to come down on the other agent elbow-first. Another stray shot rang out, but it had been as the guy was going down. His hand was mostly up, the impulsive fire going into the sky.

Within seconds, she was there. She rushed up through the powdery snow that covered the back alley, half-crouched to dive at Dumber's gun hand and yank the weapon from his surprised grasp. A sliding dive curled into a roll, her hood getting peeled back in the process and curls upon curls of unruly, dyed-red hair spilling out everywhere as a result, covering her face and leaving her briefly blind.

" _GODDAMNIT BUTTLORD, DO YOU **ALWAYS** HAVE TO ANTAGONIZE THESE ASSHOLES?!" _

Call Girl's disapproval came through the party line, loud and clear, as Mysterion used a precise strike to the back of the head to put Dumber out for the count. Dumb was on his knees, in shock, his hands pressed tightly over his gut, the envelope that had been handed back to him part of the bloody mess that now attempted to staunch his wound.

Mysterion might have had a plan for how to defuse this situation, but there wasn't time. The back door of the bar burst open, bright yellow light spilling out over Dumb as he fell over into the snow. A shadow was cast over him that was _probably_ Skeeter, but was _definitely_ holding a shotgun. He was up and off of Dumber in a heartbeat, turning for Buttlord and getting her by the elbow as she was half-way up to her feet to yank her quickly around the corner of the building.

"Are yous the ones causin' all the commotion back here? We don't take _kindly_ to people causing a commotion 'round these parts."

 _Yep, that's Skeeter._

It was time for a quick decision; his partner had gotten her hair under control and her hood back up to keep it that way, and the pair of them were able to share a glance that agreed on the next course of action.

They were splitting up. He was _in costume,_ after all, and she wasn't. She could step out on the street and just be a kid walking home. He, on the other hand, would have to take a more _creative_ route.

"We'll meet back at base- Call Girl, get an ambulance, one of the pricks took a bullet to the gut."

" _On it."_

Buttlord responded with only a smart nod, pushing off of the wall and somehow managing to keep a controlled _walk_ as she stepped out onto the sidewalk instead of breaking out into an adrenaline fueled run.

Mysterion, on the other hand, was heading back for the rooftops.

* * *

 _Base_ referred no longer to Kenny McCormick's bedroom, as it might have had a couple weeks previous. After some team discussion, base had been re-located to a much more secure venue... Buttlord's basement- or, as most everyone called her these days, Dee. Originally the basement room had been her father's attempt at a home gym gone woefully neglected, since taken over and utilized daily by his daughter who just so happened to moonlight as a super hero every now and again.

Dee arrived to a quiet house that hadn't expected her back until later. She could hear her parents upstairs... _otherwise occupied_ with one another. Good, because she wasn't in the mood to try and explain why she was home early, and she didn't really want to pause at the door to take off her boots, either. She tromped snow right across the carpet, unzipping her big black coat and tossing it onto the back of the couch along the way before hurrying to the basement door. She scurried down the stairs into some sense of relative _safety,_ all while her heart threatened to explode inside her neck.

 _They shot at her. They shot at **her.**_ That was new. Different. Government agents had been trying to capture her the majority of her life- for powers she held over the thoughts and actions of others, most commonly utilized through online portals like Instagram and Facebook. Without trying, she could gather massive audiences and influence them. With little more than a photo, a caption, and maybe a couple pithy tags, she could get any post to take the world by storm and, by proxy, allow the thought in that post to ride the wave of human consciousnesses until it found actionable hands.

This was hardly the first time she'd been uncooperative, but it was usually her partner who ended up in the most danger. When time and again they came to South Park in an attempt to _capture_ her, she and Mysterion worked to foil them, and so often _he_ was the one who ended up with guns pointed at him- addressed by the men in their cliché black suits to be just some kid who was in the way. This new status quo was a deal she'd cut back within the first week of September, when school started, that she'd work _with_ the government agents if they'd stop trying to kidnap her and her family... but part of that deal was her right to say _no_ if she didn't like the job.

Apparently the government had a differing opinion on that matter... and this was the first time they'd displayed a serious willingness to _terminate_ her.

"Why the _fuck_ did you do that?!"

Arrival in the basement brought the realization that Dee had not made it back first- of course she hadn't. She'd had to walk through the streets of South Park like everything was alright. Like she _hadn't_ just been shot at and used her time-ripping ass at _exactly_ the right second to avoid getting a bullet to the chest... or watched that bullet rip into another human instead, whom she had drug into the way as a meat shield for when time resumed its usual flow.

Of course, Mysterion hadn't come in through the front door. No, he'd come in through a narrow storm window above the workbench that took up the majority of the north wall... a workbench she now kept mostly clear so that he had a place to step down onto as he slipped in from outside. How exactly he _opened_ the window from the outside was a skill she had not yet grasped, but it appeared one of Mysterion's many talents was getting past these sorts of things with relative ease.

That and getting changed quickly; the Mysterion costume was laid out on the work bench at the moment, while clothing more in line with Kenny McCormick had been pulled on in its place. Ratty jeans that had seen many a better day, an old shirt, and of course his trademark bright orange parka with clumped up brown fur trimming on the hood and sleeves were what he wore now, but the boy beneath was the same... and he wasn't happy. His tone was still the gruff bark he used as Mysterion, fists balled at his sides as he _glared_ at her.

A month and some ago, Dee could have gotten away with not answering. She could have stared blankly at him, maybe blinked a few times, and that would have been accepted. He would have gotten no explanation from her, and simply have had to deal with the fact that she was reckless, hot-headed, and often did things without thinking... _just like everybody else._

But he wasn't just like everybody else.

He was the exception.

"If you saw what job they tried to give me, you woulda flipped 'em off, too." She responded without guilt, plonking her butt down on the last step to have a seat and take off her boots. They were heavy black things, shoes she referred to as her 'big uglies' that were made to keep her feet warm and dry even in deep, wet snow. Waterproof, with a thick thermal layer, they were as good as wearing leg weights on a daily basis... they were also a bitch to lace and unlace whenever she had to get in or out of them. "Besides, they've never tried to _kill me_ before- how was I supposed to know Captain Asshole was going to pull a gun?"

For a moment, she'd felt as if she'd won; Kenny didn't have an immediate response for her. At the same time, however, there was a terrible ball of _panic_ that just wouldn't dissolve. One of her fears had come to pass- she'd become valuable enough to the US Government that they would accept killing her over letting her operate as a free agent. This latest drama in their ongoing... _negotiations_ would not be taken lightly, she had no doubt.

 _Maybe it's better to just do as they tell me... **but it was so fucking stupid!**_

Feet clad in thick black socks escaped her boots, and she thumped the heavy footwear together to get excess snow off of them before setting them off to the side on the concrete floor. Hands reached up for the railing to get herself some extra 'oomph' for standing, and she looked up... to find Kenny crouched down in front of her. He'd quietly come close and bent to her level, arms wrapped around his knees and giving her a long, studious look. Said look stopped her in the process of getting up, arms up and body leaned back, but frozen in her preparatory pose.

"You scared me."

His admission was carried on the back of his normal, every-day tone. Higher, smoother, sweeter; the voice of an angel fallen to earth if there ever was one.

It hit her a lot harder than his gruff, serious persona. Defenses crumbled in the face of pure honesty. Her arms dropped back down, hands to either side, lain lame as she shifted forward on the step to look him in the eyes. She still had _trouble_ with that- looking him directly in those pretty powder blue eyes still felt as if it were _too_ intimate, like he might look back and see something _wrong_ with her. The reflex was to look away, bashful and unsure, but stubbornness kept her head up and her chin jutted slightly out, sticking with it for several silent moments. They were _both_ fucking scared after what just happened... she needed to get her head back together.

With a sigh, she hung her head.

"I'm sorry, Kenny, I didn't... this wasn't the way this was supposed to go."

"I know. I didn't expect it either." He agreed softly; neither of them had cause to think the agents would use deadly force with her. They never had before; the stakes had been raised. "You just... _usually I'm the one who gets shot at,_ y'know? And I take a hit, you undo it- or not- and we both go to school the next morning. _You_ take a hit? … that's different."

"Hey." That thought was enough to jerk her back up, looking at him again with lips pensively pressed together. She reached out, palms sliding over his cheeks to hold his head in her hands. He was still _fucking cold._ "... that didn't happen. And now we know better. Now we can _plan_ better."

He scoffed. "You mean _I_ can plan better- if you fuckin' made the plans, we would be screwed from here to hell." His arms unfolded from about his knees, taking her hands off of his face to instead offer an assist in getting upright. He held her hands in his, pulling her up off of the stairs and the pair of them moving together into the center of the room- where a thick beige rug could protect their feet from the cold concrete. Standing next to her well-worn punching bag, he had pulled her in to hug her, and didn't seem particularly keen on letting go.

She didn't fight him; this was another situation in which he was the exception to the rule.

"We should text Wendy." She noted faintly; no doubt their third member was anxious for a full situation report and discussion of what happened.

"Yeah... in a minute."

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

 _ **HOLY HELLO WE ARE BACK**_

With a somewhat long chapter. Which only half-followed my outline and probably added another chapter to the projected length of this story, because _what the fuck Dee you had to flip off the guy with the gun. You just had to._

GOOD TO KNOW I'M STILL AWESOME AT GOING OFF THE RAILS.

Oh, and because people have been asking and I keep forgetting- _the ship name pretty much everyone decided on over on Tumblr is_ _ **Mysteributt**_ _._ I may or may not have drawn a shitty cartoon submarine and wrote that on the side to commemorate the name. XD

For the newbies, I run a Tumblr to post art related to the story, as well as interact with readers. It's the same username as here, so feel free to look me up.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	2. Fashion and Fabrications

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Fashion and Fabrications::**

A lot of kids would argue that gym class effectively ruined Fridays at the middle school. The day that came before the weekend, that last push that most felt justified lazily coasting through until the final bell rang, also enjoyed being the designated day upon which the gym hour began with what one of the teachers termed as ' _The Friday Fun-Run_ '.

Both its title and existence got _groans_ from the vast majority of kids. Introduced within the first week of school, reviled after that, but still a weekly occurrence during which the digital scoreboards in the gym were used to display a 10-minute clock, and some rather dated music played on the overhead _[near always starting with Eye of the Tiger]_ as all kids in the gym were expected to take an extended jog until the clock hit zero.

Inevitably, a pack would form out of the main mass of the class, more _power walking_ than jogging, moving their feet just enough to satisfy the watchful eyes of the teachers. Behind that pack were the fat, the unfit, and the unmotivated; kids who didn't care or who weren't physically able enough to keep up a power walk or a jog for ten minutes... or were operating upon limited means, like Jimmy. In front of that pack were the athletic kids; anyone in a sport who did get their cardio in on a regular basis, and the gym rats.

Usually, Dee was fully content to be among the athletic group. Most Fridays she just kept it at a jog and called it good, not feeling the need to put her head down and actually burn a few calories.

Today?

Well, this specific Friday saw her 'd even take it a step further and call it outright _pissed off._

The feeling was a holdover from the night before, but it hadn't mellowed out with the passing hours and an attempt at sleep. Once the fear of _getting fucking shot at_ wore off, she found herself angry that she'd _been_ shot at over saying no to something _so freakin' stupid-_ Okay, yeah, sure, that letter had come straight from the desk of the President, but that didn't change the fact that the job contained within it was both _petty_ and _insulting._ When she'd decided to make a deal with the government, she _assumed_ they'd ask her to do some dirty work, perhaps even something unethical, like manipulating voters or spreading a complacent lie in place of a scandalous truth. Instead, they handed her the equivalent of an _ad campaign on steroids._

She'd spent the majority of her night fussing over it in her head, getting more angry the longer it lodged in her brain. _Someone had threatened her life over this stupid fucking job._ And for why? Was the job that important to the President, or was it just the fault of one trigger happy asshole? She had no idea if he'd been _authorized,_ or got sick of her sass and decided his gun was the best solution.

That said, they disrespected her first.

What sleep Dee _did_ get was of a poor quality, and the following morning left her to keep circling over the same enraging ground. She'd checked out to continue obsessing, missing the banter at the bus stop, and hazily drifting through homeroom, as well as first and second hour. Someone may have noticed she was buried in her own head, but if they had tried to talk her back to the present moment she had been too tuned out to notice nor care.

By the time she made it to gym class on this particular Friday, she was more than a touch _tightly wound._ The thought of just breaking out in a full-bodied run sounded _uncomplicated_ and _liberating_ to her.

Kids were directed to the edges of the gym, using it as an indoor running track, with teachers in the middle where the could watch and call out walkers to pick up their feet and move it. For the moment, however, they were all walkers while the music got set up, that being the agreed upon signal for everyone to get moving.

Dee didn't wait for the music. It probably called attention to her, but she didn't particularly care at this exact moment. She'd picked herself up into a steady jog on the inside edge of what was considered the 'track', avoiding both her peers and their funny looks. Movement brought her out of her thoughts, out of her skull, and instead into the rhythm of her own body. There was a _sense_ to that. Not in the manner of logical framework, stamped in place and fasted with so many calculations, but rather like the natural and organic beat that anyone could tap their toe to, even in the absence of music. Steady thumping of feet hitting the shiny wood flooring, the push and pull of her own lungs as she pumped her arms and built up a little heat in her chest; these things _made sense_ to her, and focusing on them let her leave all the stupid _goop_ in her mind behind.

The music started, other kids started moving. Her body pitched forward, her jog pushing up towards a proper _run_ as she felt her limbs warm and loosen. The tempo of her rhythm increased, but it was still a steady, consistent thing. Her steps were a simple _one-two,one-two,one-two_ dance of catching her weight and forward momentum in the bend of her knee, sending it down to her heel, and rolling it forward through her foot to spring forth from her toes and land it upon the other leg to do it all over again. The pump of her arms was both part of her lunges through space and a counter-balance as her whole body became involved in the simple process of _running laps around a public school gym for no reason besides the pleasure of doing so._

She didn't really notice when she lapped the main group of power-walkers, about four minutes in. Or the athletic kids, about thirty seconds after that. Oh, she was _aware_ of them in the way that she had to avoid collisions, but that was just shapes in her peripheral vision. Eyes were forward, focused, slipping past others narrowly to avoid changing her course any more than necessary.

She didn't _really_ notice any one particular student until someone caught up to her.

 _Clyde._ She addressed him only briefly; with a glance that seemed surprised he was there. It looked like he had dug in just to contest her for the lead of the pack after she'd blasted through. Had she nearly nailed him a second ago? Maybe, that green and white T-shirt looked somewhat familiar.

He was another boy who had gotten taller than her over summer vacation, longer legs bringing him just about even with her. Was this competition? Was he trying to race her?

 _Oh hell yes._

Contentment shifted to _delight,_ and Dee dug in for a _sprint,_ pushing her stride and putting her head down as a smile found its way onto her face. There was no room to glance backward, but looking forward left Clyde nowhere to be seen- nor anyone else. She was the leader of the pack, putting in the full effort of what she was capable of from near-daily workouts she did just because she honestly _enjoyed_ running.

She just usually enjoyed it by herself, not in front of other people. Her runner's high came after sprints between her home and the homes of her friends, or an extended to downtown and back for this game or that novelty, or at the end of an elliptical workout in her basement.

What was going on _here,_ though? This had an extra touch to it.

Pushing herself out in front of others made her feel like she was _winning._

As the music stopped and she slowed down, huffing, puffing, _red in the face but grinning from ear-to-ear,_ she had to admit it was a good fuckin' feeling. Certainly better than how she'd been before. As kids drifted away from the track to report to their designated zones of the gym to meet with their respective teachers and hear what the plan was for the rest of the period, she had to take a second with her hands on her knees, puffing for air but feeling much cleaner for it as she did.

"Dee, hey, Dee!"

A voice was calling out to her; female, _not Clyde_. She hadn't even looked for the guy. Was he pissed that she'd laid it all down to stay ahead of him? Or maybe he thought it was weird that she'd burn herself out over a run in gym. Either way, she looked up from her exhilarated panting to find... Bebe approaching her at a light jog. Curly blond hair had been tied back for gym class, and she wore a red T with white shorts that both served their function and looked pretty damn good on her to boot. Still, her attention confused Dee- they usually were not in each others spheres of influence; Bebe led the girls; in trends, fashion, gossip, and boys- to which Dee was a subject, not a participant. After all, according to the rest of the school, Dee was a _boy..._ and one of middling interest to the girls, as far as she knew. Cute, but not _that_ cute, when last she'd heard the assessment from Wendy.

Bebe _talking_ to her was out of left field. There were gendered lines at this school that most kids didn't cross unless they were dating. With the perception of Dee as a boy, Bebe approaching her alone risked the rumor mill suggesting that they might be _interested_ in each other. Then again, Bebe held a great deal of sway over what came out of that particular mill, so maybe she didn't care.

All things considered, Dee didn't offer much of a reaction besides _looking_ at her, straightening up and still trying to get her breath back.

"Walk with me?" Bebe invited, signaling back over to where their class was gathering up. Did they share a gym teacher? Shit, they did- and Mr. Beerman's class was gathering up at the far end from where they were currently, which left about a minute to _talk_ between point A and point B. Meanwhile, just over Bebe's right shoulder, Dee finally caught a glimpse of Clyde joining the crowd around one of the other teachers, Ms. Weiss. She couldn't see his face, though, so no hints on how he felt about their impromptu race.

Her gaze returned to looking _at_ Bebe, not past her, and her shoulders squeezed together in a slight shrug. _Sure, why not?_ Dee nodded fractionally, the muscles that wrapped about her hips and extended both down to her knees and up into her core feeling a little like stretchy taffy on a hot day as they got moving- as if they barely had the resilience to keep her joints and bones together. She might have over-done it a bit.

"Great- I wanted to ask you something." Bebe was _direct_ as they became a pair, her red and white contrasted by Dee's proclivity for black and electric blue, further made different by Bebe's clothes being of a tight style that showed off the fact that she was the most _developed_ girl in the grade whilst Dee had the combination of a binder and very loose clothing obscuring as much as possible. Standing next to her, it was hard for Dee not to notice how _different_ she was from her.

More than once, Dee had found herself in envy of Bebe's femininity. She made it look easy, even powerful- people knew not to mess with her, not for fear of physical ruin, but that of their _reputation_. She was the definition of _girl_ in the popular conceit of what that meant, but the very peak of what that accepted image was _allowed_ to be. Handicapped though the term was, Dee was most certainly part of the largely male group that admired Bebe. Having her direct attention might have even been a little _thrilling._

Bebe took Dee's silent musing as listening, and continued. "I recently started a club for fashion and sewing, and we're having our first show soon. I've designed a whole line of outfits, and... well, I'm short on models for the show. Specifically guys- I've got plenty of girls form the club, but I need more boys to model my work. Interested?"

Eyebrows rose up. _Modeling? … I mean, it_ _ **could**_ _be fun, but if I have to change in a public space with other guys where there_ _ **isn't**_ _a bathroom stall for me to hide in, we've got a bit of a problem._

"Even if _you_ don't want to participate, could you at least get the word out to some of the other guys? Maybe a Facebook post to let people know I'm looking and to contact me?"

 _Ah, to the heart of the matter._ Bebe knew as well as most others at the school that Dee had a way with social media- though rumor liked to think it was due to hacked algorithms and nothing supernatural in the slightest. Still, that was a bit like using a shot gun at an archery range; post it to Facebook and Bebe would be getting applicants from three states over in a volume greater than the capacity of the school itself... but hey, Dee could do a little leg work for a beautiful girl- particularly when she asked nicely. As they arrived to join the throng of students in their area of the gym, she gave Bebe a thumbs up to signal her willingness to the task.

" _Wonderful-_ thank you." Bebe sounded genuine in her gratitude, breaking out into a smile as she was accepted into a knot of girls.

Dee found herself smiling back, maybe a touch _too_ broadly as she drifted towards her own group of friends. Stan and Kenny seem relieved when she made eye-contact.

* * *

"Whaddya mean, you're not trick-or-treating this year?"

Cartman was back at the lunch table.

The hospital had released him from observation, confident that his ribs would heal without threatening his lungs as long as he took it easy for the coming weeks. A weight limit had been imposed, which he _milked for all it was fucking worth_ to get other people to carry his books and whatnot for him. He even tried to use it to get Kenny to do his homework for him, trying to somehow argue that bending over a desk to do any kind of schoolwork could kill him, but no one bought it. At first, Dee was _fucking amazed_ that Cartman just got to rejoin them at the lunch table... but really, it appeared to be a rule of this group that no matter how crazy shit got, when it was _over_ it was _fucking over..._ and life went back to the way it was as best anyone could manage.

She supposed she could respect that... as much as she wanted to put some kind of electric trap on Cartman's seat. At the moment, however, she needed to take no action to see an utterly shocked look on his face. Stan had managed it with words.

"It's not like I _don't want to,_ dude." Stan answered. "We're middle schoolers now- adults don't give candy to teenagers; they just yell at us for being too old for Halloween."

" _Dat's bullshet!_ You're never too old for free candy!" Cartman protested. "What kinda crappy country are we living in where teenagers can't go door-to-door for fun-sized chocolate?"

"Well, you _can..._ if you've got a younger sibling." Kyle pointed out, sounding _entirely_ too smug all of the sudden and directing all of it to Cartman. "Teenagers with their younger siblings can still get loads of candy; sometimes adults will give extra 'cause they think it's cute. I'm looking after Ike this year."

" _Same over here- I'm on guard duty with Karen."_ Kenny added.

The look on Cartman's face was a wonder to behold. First, wide eyes that couldn't believe it, while his brows ascended towards his hairline. Jaw loosened, and he actually appeared to be in open-mouthed shock for several seconds before he out-and-out glared at Kyle. It was almost as if he were going through the stages of accepting a death sentence, only he was being forced to accept that Kyle was going to get free candy while he wasn't. Denial, anger, which meant the next step was...

"Kyle... I don't suppose I could-"

"Get your own little brother, fatass." Kyle's response was instant, allowing zero time for Cartman and his faux sweet tone that he used when he wanted something.

" _I don't have a little brother you jew asshole!"_ Cartman snapped. _"I can't just hop down to the fuckin' hospital and pick one up- goddamn rent-a-brother service for Halloween?! God-DAMNIT!"_

"You could volunteer to babysit someone else's kid for Halloween." Stan pointed out. "That's what Shelly's been doing for years- parents pay good money to drop their kids on a teenager so they can go party."

"What, _really?"_ Cartman quested, his head snapping back over to Stan as hope was presented. "Free candy, _and_ I get paid? That's... that's _fucking beautiful."_

" _What about you, Dee?"_ Kenny asked with a wayward elbow to make sure he got her attention. They'd been sitting next to each other every day, and the physicality of the little nudges they could give each other in the course of a conversation were about as close as they could get while at school and in public. _"You could come with me an' Karen, if you want. Plan so far is to team up with Ike and Kyle; with another big kid in the group we can pull in a heavier haul."_

Normally, the answer would have been _no._ Dee wasn't a fan of cheap chocolate that was mostly made out of wax... _buuut_ the fact that Kenny was asking was a factor. Besides, she didn't have to keep her candy; she could just pass it off on Karen and Ike at the end of the night as a surprise boost to their take. Looking over to him, she felt like they were thinking the same thing- _it's an undercover date._ An excuse for them to spend time together, under the guise of a group activity.

 _Wouldn't miss it._ She grinned her agreement, settling back to eating her lunch as Cartman began to think aloud about just _how many_ kids he could watch in one night to maximize his profits.

She'd start texting people about Bebe's fashion show after lunch- getting the word out would be easier without Cartman in the immediate vicinity to complain about not being invited.

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

My outline keeps getting pushed down as scenes end up longer than I planned them. Oopsies!

 _And oh my god Dee stop blushing whenever anyone smiles at you. Yes Bebe is very pretty and I know you're pan as fuck but Jesus girl just fuckin' cool it._

For those worrying they just skimmed right over what the job from the government was, _nope, I left that out on purpose. That's kinda the main reason the first part of the story was from Kenny's perspective._ I'm saving that particular reveal until near the end of this installment. :3 But please, feel free to keep guessing.

Also, as a general _heads up,_ in approximately 2 weeks I will be joining my family in Florida to celebrate my brother's 30th birthday, as well as the health of his first child, who had something of a shaky first year after being born premature. I'll be gone for about a week and royally jetlagged after the fact... but hey, vacation! I'll let you guys know when we're leaving, and I'll do my best not to leave y'all on a cliffhanger or nothing while I'm gone.

… no promises, tho, that's just the way shit goes sometimes.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	3. Brain Babies

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Brain Babies::**

[ Subject ] YOU ARE IN SUCH SHIT  
From: "DocKartwright"  
To: "AssMaster9001"

COCKSUCKING CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO

I JUST GOT MY ASS RIPPED BECAUSE I TOLD THEM YOUD COOPERATE

DO YOU MIND EXPLAINING WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED LAST NIGHT?

-Dr. Haley Kartwright, PhD

[ Subject] Re: YOU ARE IN SUCH SHIT  
From: "AssMaster9001"  
To: "DocKartwright"

They cocked it up first. They said one guy, two showed up. Also I assumed the job would have been something, I don't know, LESS STUPID?

I told you when we made this deal, I'd retain the right to refuse. They can't act like all the power is in their court. I've been humiliating their guys for YEARS. They have to at least respect THAT and try to treat me on some kind of equal terms. Otherwise, we can go back to the old dance- I'm sure the rednecks out here need more target practice.

[insert witty signature here]

[ Subject ] Re: Re: YOU ARE IN SUCH SHIT  
From: "DocKartwright"  
To: "AssMaster9001"

They never agreed to your right to say no. We are talking about the fucking executive branch here, for fuck's sake. Lemurs fellating bananas, you actually thought you were going to get a fair shake out of this? They don't RESPECT you, you're just a tool they want to use. And if they can't use you, they'd rather you GONE than operating on your own.

Fuck fuck fuck why did I agree to mediate this- oh right, because it was the only way to keep my fucking job. Which I'm not doing, because I got 'invited' to the capitol as your fucking representative.

They're putting it on a timetable; if you don't deliver by the end of the month, we're both toast. And for you, that's probably literal. BTW, they didn't TELL me that, I've been listening at fucking doors for you.

Swallow your goddamned pride and just do it.

-Dr. Haley Kartwright, PhD

[ Subject ] Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE IN SUCH SHIT  
From: "AssMaster9001"  
To: "DocKartwright"

I AM NOT A MARKETING MACHINE. I figured they were gonna ask me to do shit like rig an election, put spin on shitty decisions made by various leadership, distract the news cycle so shady shit could be gotten away with- I was READY to participate in that kind of underhanded bullshit, mainly figuring I could out-underhand them and turn it all inside-out after a couple of months.

THEY DON'T SCARE ME. THEY'VE BEEN TRYING TO CAPTURE ME MY WHOLE FUCKING LIFE. IF IT'S GONNA TURN TO KILLING, I'LL START A FUCKING REVOLUTION. I COULD OVERTURN THE GOVERNMENT IN A WEEK. DO THEY WANT ANARCHY? THIS COULD START TONIGHT

[insert witty signature here]

[ Subject ] Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE IN SUCH SHIT  
From: "DocKartwright"  
To: "AssMaster9001"

You and I both know you won't do that. The US is too big a player on the world stage, and you wouldn't commit to that kind of human cost. Even if you decided to supplant the president with a puppet, you don't know how to control an entire government, and I'm betting you really don't want to put your whole life aside to try and learn how to handle that many moving pieces and keep them all in balance with one another.

I know you're mad, but these are the facts. If you don't do as you've been told by the 31st, the President will put a price on your head.

I'll keep my ear to the ground, here, and see what I can find out that might be useful in the future. Last I heard, they were sending someone in to keep an eye on you. I'd stay wary of new faces.

It's an easy job, kid. Just deal with it.

-Dr. Haley Kartwright, PhD

* * *

Dee had stolen away to the bathroom during forth hour to text some friends in peace about Bebe's fashion show... but before she could even get to that, she found Dr. Kartwright had e-mailed her. Subject line aside, it was a _frustrating_ exchange that left her exhausted and unsure of anything she could say in response that would be anything more than _posturing._ She did a great deal of that- puffing herself up and acting as if she had a greater threat lurking just out of sight, bluffing her way through encounters and managing to pass through on intimidation alone... but Kartwright had seen her at her worst, and knew exactly where Dee stood when shit hit the fan.

After all, Kartwright was the one who killed her.

A _version_ of her, anyhow. One who came to deliver information from an aborted timeline where South Park had been taken over by zombies created by a CDC experiment gone terribly wrong. That version of her had been infected, and so her death had been a necessity. In the end, she'd led Kartwright out to the woods and knelt in the leaf litter, quite literally asking to be put down before she succumbed to the change. She wasn't the sort to fight for herself and _only_ herself until the bitter end. When others were involved, when people she cared about were at risk? She would lay herself down and accept whatever fate she had to, no matter how abhorrent. That was the type of human she was, and Kartwright knew it.

She supposed she just had to consider herself lucky that the government hadn't yet figured out that threatening her friends would be effective manipulation. So long as they were only threatening _her,_ she could go on thumbing her nose at them as much as possible.

" _Dude? You've been in there for fuckin' fifteen minutes. Everything okay?"_

A voice spooked her out of her musings, having taken a stall in the boy's bathroom to enjoy the privacy of the shitter and concern herself with her phone.

The voice that called her out was a familiar muffled tone; Kenny. They shared forth hour Social Studies, and normally did their work together. She knew that he'd been worried about her all day- in fact, it seemed a _number_ of her peers were worried about her after bearing witness to her mad sprint around the gym. Apparently it wasn't hard to tell when a teenager had a bee in their bonnet from action and expressions alone, particularly when that action was extremely public and involved very nearly crashing into several dozen other kids who were just trying to coast through the worst part of their Friday.

Kenny, however, was closer than most and his concern was of a more understanding sort; he'd _been_ there, he _knew_ what happened... and, possibly the worst part, _he wanted to help._

Dee reached out, unlatching the bathroom door and letting it swing open, finding Kenny on the other side with his hands stuffed into his pockets for a casual posture. Shoulders rounded down, his gangly frame leaned against a portion of the tiled wall as if he expected to be waiting awhile... or maybe he _had_ been waiting awhile, and just hadn't spoken up until now. Outwear wasn't allowed to be worn at the middle school during the day, so he was left instead in an old long-sleeve shirt that might have been white a decade ago, but was now beige with a number of darker stains throughout, worn with jeans that were patched at the knees with oddly patterned fabric, red with yellow dots here, blue paisley there- though stitched into place by a practiced hand; probably his. This look was completed by a scarf he wrapped over his face, since it wasn't outlawed by the school dress code, that looked like it were on the verge of fraying and sat on the spectrum somewhere between orange and yellow without a good definition of which one it wanted to be.

For a moment, she considered showing him the chain of e-mails... but that would lead back to a discussion she didn't want to have. She hadn't told _him_ what the job was, either. Simply that she was insulted by it. Kartwright's stressing that it was a simple, easy thing would probably end up with him pushing her in the same direction; to just swallow her pride and _do it._

More so when a threat on her life had been leveled.

 _Damnit,_ but it was about more than pride! It was about these fuckers understanding that _no meant no,_ and they couldn't treat her like this. She'd tried to make a deal because she was _sick_ of the status quo that was always threatening to force her and her family into moving again for fear of capture. _She was sick of being afraid,_ but damnit if these government assholes wanted nothing but to make fear the _core_ of their supposed working relationship.

Looking up at Kenny, she wasn't sure what kind of look to give him. She was usually quite good at talking to him without talking, but how in the world did she express the kind of _shit_ that was going on in her skull right now? Even with words, she'd have a hard time of it. And she didn't dare speak at school- not in an bathroom where any rando could walk in and hear, if not her voice, the echo of it bouncing off the tiled walls after she'd already shut her damn trap.

" _Jesus, is your brain dicked up that badly?"_ Kenny pushed himself off of the wall, approaching and removing one hand from his pocket, offering it to help her up off of the porcelain goddess. _"... still, you look like you're doing better than this morning. You were fucking **dead.** Cartman called your dad a cake-huffing faggot and you didn't even blink." _

… _good to know, I'll just **not** invite him the next time dad makes goodies. _With a sigh, she accepted the hand, pitching up onto her feet and exiting the stall to wander into the main space of the bathroom. Given the ability to do so, she turned herself away from him, lips pressed together and her nose crinkled upwards.

Finally, she decided.

She handed over her phone.

Kenny was a quick reader, accepting the device and scrolling through the e-mail chain until he got to the bottom, where she had a drafted reply that contained mostly angry teenager 'you can't control me' language that ultimately meant nothing. With her phone still in his hand, head bent to study the screen, he noted _"Well, your Halloween just got a bit more interesting."_

She blinked. That was right- end of the month, the 31st of October; Halloween. _Do or die, what a perfect time for it._

He handed back her phone, and she braced herself for the incoming lecture; that quiet complacency was the way to go, that _safety_ was the way to go.

" _So, what's the plan?"_

Her head jerked in his direction as her phone slipped into the kangaroo pocket of her electric blue hoodie, her hand remaining in there with it as a resting position for her current stance. _Huh?_

" _What? Have you just been_ _ **sulking**_ _in here this whole time? No ideas? No clever ways to say fuck you?_ _ **Nothing?"**_

She had to blink at him for a few seconds... before a smile curled up onto her face. _I seem to remember someone mentioning that if_ _ **I**_ _made the plans, we'd be seven shades of fucked by now... or_ _ **something**_ _like that._ Her shoulders rose up, squared and proud instead of slouched and disheartened. And then, just as she was about to lift her free hand up to her brow to indicate she was still thinking about it... it hit her. She _did_ have something she could do- and it most certainly _would_ be her own flavor of _fuck you_ to those sitting pretty in the White House, thinking they could just _bark orders_ at her an expect her to meekly obey like a frightened child. Her half-raised arm shifted, palm flipping up as her fingers snapped, and her eyes lit up with the excitement of an idea that came forward out of the mire and murk of her stressed out gray-matter to _shine._

Kenny witnessed this transformation with a faint _"Oookay."_ Before letting out a laugh. " _Your brain got so fucked it had a baby, huh?"_

Fingers that had _snapped_ in her _eureka_ moment were _slapped_ over her mouth, stifling a laugh and lunging at him, her other arm snapping outwards so her pocketed hand could emerge and punch him in the shoulder for nearly making her lose it at school. He stepped out of the way, of course, having seen the hit coming. His mouth may have been covered, but she could tell by the press of his cheeks up under his eyes that he was _grinning_ beneath that concealing scarf.

 _Bitchtits, what have I told you about making me laugh in public?_ She glared at him over a beaming smile she couldn't deny, snorting back concealed giggles as she shook her fist at him.

" _Yeah, yeah, shake your fist, see if I care. Plotting party after school? We should get Wendy in on this, too."_

 _Oh shit, yes. Good idea. You're full of those._ Her nodding was vigorous.

For now, however, they needed to get back to class.

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

So, fun fact about this story- I wrote a more detailed outline for it than I usually do for my work. Usually my outlines are three sections; Conflicts, Resolutions, and Twists, with a bullet pointed list below each. This keeps things simple, reminds me of all the basic shit I need to make the narrative work, while leaving me plenty of room to add... for lack of a better term, _personality_ in-between the main bits of the plot. By the mid-point of any piece of writing, I've begun to depart from this kind of outline because the places where my characters were able to take agency, they took _so much agency_ that they completely changed where the fuck I was going with this.

This time 'round, I took my bullet points and wrote a much more detailed outline, fleshing out the skeleton of the story with some connective tissue, some wheres and whens and whos and whys that I tend to just intuitas I go when they're not integral to the plot, as well as personal interactions and maybe a couple of clever lines I want to make sure I get in there. I figured this would give me more to work with, and avoid a sudden dip in the middle of the story where I'm panicking and trying to make it work because _goddamnit Dee could you just be predictable for five seconds I'd really love that._

… we departed from the outline in the first chapter. I mean, I'm still _using_ it, but not as an outline. More as a vague guideline as Dee goes "What? You wanted me to _not_ be a belligerent asshole? Sorry, no can do, boss, IMMA FUCK IT ALL UP."

On another subject, I have no idea what genre to tuck this story into. Again. Suggestions are welcome. I'm keeping it as general fiction for now because shit I suck at categories.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	4. In The Corner Under The Stairs

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – In The Corner Under The Stairs::**

As Kenny had first suggested when he saw Dee's basement room, she'd gotten herself some beanbag chairs. They were of the cheap sort, full of tiny foam beans, but they were perfect for what Kenny termed as _planning parties-_ wherein the trio of Call Girl, Mysterion, and Buttlord met within their 'secret base' as their regular selves to pretend to do their homework whilst discussing plans for the future.

Arriving at Dee's house, they first passed through the living room before hurrying on to the basement; greeted briefly by Dee's father... who was coming home earlier and earlier of late. Was work slow? She supposed she could only worry so much about the guy; he seemed to be pretty pleased with life. Maybe it was a sign that she was growing paranoid with recent events, but any sort of change in the routine became another thing for her poor anxious brain to _obsess_ over and wonder if it was the harbinger of doom upon herself and her family.

Much as she talked a big game, she was always terrified that she was _missing something,_ and that something would undo everything. Sometimes the only thing she could do against that dread was put on a bigger front, puffing up her chest with bravado and grinning in the face of certain destruction... because if she didn't, she might crumple into tears, impotent and useless.

It was comforting to have friends who would come to her aid. People who'd take her by the shoulders and prop her up if she did collapse, and face the danger with her, even if they didn't have any skin in the game. Of all the people she knew in South Park, Kenny and Wendy were _special_ for that reason. They were the people she chose to allow closer than the others.

She supposed that's why they got to share this space with her, which had been something of her personal safe zone since she took it over.

The beanbag chairs existed in the northwest corner of the basement room, upon a square of orange shag carpeting that had come straight out of the 80's... and her parent's storage unit at the U-STOR-IT. Dee had picked this corner because it was the only one not yet taken over by fitness equipment, and because the stairs leading down into the basement overhung this it, making it into a secret little cubby space that just felt appropriate. It was something that felt mostly safe... and it also prevented any adult from getting direct line of sight for at least ten seconds, which was long enough to cease any punishable behavior.

The trio settled upon this corner quickly... but no one rushed to start the conversation. Kenny appeared to be taking a moment of respite, and Wendy seemed... _tense._

In fact, now that Dee examined Wendy a little more closely, she got the feeling that the girl was a touch _uncomfortable_ as she sat her butt down into a black beanbag skinned in fake, plastic imitation leather, the air hissing out of the casing from beneath her rump. Her knees were kept tightly together, her hands tucked under her thighs and her backpack still securely on her back rather than tossed on the floor to gut it of its contents and get started. It was as if she expected to be _ejected_ from their company, and she'd resolved to be prepared to leave in an instant.

"Hey, guys, I know we wanted to talk about what to do about the _threats,_ but... I... uh... I have a confession to make."

Kenny's attention was gotten almost immediately. Backpack thrown into the middle of the space between them, he had originally _sprawled_ atop his white beanbag, limbs spread every which way and his legs cast out wide to be the very picture of teen relaxation. His head, which had been hanging back a moment before, shot up to peer at Wendy through the ratty fur of his hood; properly dressed in his trademark orange parka and making no motion to take it off. _"If you've got a threesome fantasy, I give it a thumbs up on the condition that I get to suck_ _ **all**_ _the boobies."_

Dee had seated herself on the last beanbag, another white one that she'd marked as _specifically_ hers by drawing a star on it in sharpie when she'd bought it with the pocket change she'd dug out of _so many couch cushions._ Truly, the entire town had donated to her new furnishings with their forgotten coinage- gathered whenever she happened to find herself in another person's house for any period of time. She'd simply set her pack next to herself, knees left to sag apart as she sunk into her spot. Wendy talking of a _confession_ seemed to confirm what Dee was already reading in body language, but Kenny's suggestion made her snap a _look_ to him that _strongly suggested he cut that out, please._

 _Really, my imagination doesn't need any encouragement._

Wendy's cheeks colored.

"Well, uh... actually... Kenny, are you aware that you left your ear piece _on_ last night?"

As if struck by electricity, both Kenny and Dee went tense. Dee looked to him, and could see an absence in his face as he dug into his memory and questioned himself on _how the fuck he could forget to turn off his fucking mic?_ Then again, last night had been... upsetting. There was no arguing that he'd been preoccupied the moment Dee's life had been in danger; the act of forgetting to kill comms was well within the realm of _possibility._ Greater implications were rushing in, however. The fact that Wendy was asking about it meant that, whether Kenny remembered turning it off or not, _it had been left on._ More than that, _it meant she had listened in._

Kenny sat up, his legs drawing in to plant his feet on the floor and place his elbows upon his knees, head getting cradled in his hands. _"You eavesdropped on us?"_ He asked Wendy, if only to clarify.

"I didn't mean to!" Wendy defended instantly. "I kept the channel open in case anything else came up, and... well, um..." _Red_ was the color of her cheeks as the embarrassment was allowed to take over. "I didn't mean to." She repeated, but with less strength.

 _Well, now I know why she didn't press for details last night- she was freaking out about listening to us. Wait, that means-_

" _You heard Dee talk."_ Kenny observed. _"How do you feel?"_

"Like a jerk!" Wendy confessed suddenly. "I didn't realize you guys were-"

" _Yeah, yeah, shit had to come out some time- I meant psychologically. People who hear Dee's voice can get **obsessed** in fucked up ways. Any fixation? Any intense need to be in her general area?" _

She blinked, her head rising up from its dejected hang over her knees. Dee got the feeling that Wendy had been obsessing, just not over specifically _her._ No, no, the conversation she and Kenny had indulged in last night had been... telling, in a certain way. Tones of voice, the care they reflected on one another; it was pretty hard to miss the fact that they were quite _friendly_ with each other... something Wendy likely found endlessly fascinating, no doubt.

The fact that Kenny treated it so casually made Dee feel embarrassed for how _tense_ she was; someone finding out, even someone she trusted, had sent a jolt of terror through her system that had been equitable to that near-miss shooting last night.

"Huh...?" Wendy hesitated a moment, before answering "No, nothing like that. I... guess I'm immune? Wait, Dee talks to _you, too._ Have you been feeling any effects like that?"

Kenny shrugged. _"I wanna be around her all the time, but... that's for different reasons. And I don't think I'm_ _ **obsessive.**_ _Am I obsessive?"_ Kenny looked to Dee for a read on that.

 _Not even a little, no._ She responded with an emphatic shake of her head, absolutely certain in her assessment of the situation. Growing up, she'd had people who got outright _creepy_ with her; going through her family's trash to find anything she might have discarded that they could keep, following her to school, breaking into her house- if her parents had been the advantageous sort, they probably could have auctioned off her school photo every year for a hefty profit. Thankfully, she had a father who was far less exploitative than Tweek's dad.

Still, it was people who had lost their minds in that particular way that had forced them to move away from the last place they'd been.

… _I wonder what makes a person susceptible to that... what's the deciding factor in **obsession**? Is it a personality trait? _

"Oh my God, so you guys are like... really... _together?_ Like, _together,_ together? I thought I was just reading too much into it, or maybe you guys hadn't realized you liked each other that much, or... _oh my God, Dee, is this why you wouldn't let me set you up with Butters?_ Why the hell didn't you _tell_ me?"

Dee's brows arched up. _Kinda defeats the point of a_ _ **secret**_ _relationship if I go about tellin' people._

"Oh, I guess... you aren't really up for it being public knowledge, huh? But... screw it!" Wendy suddenly abandoned her seat, crossing the short gap of space to invade Dee's bubble and grab her in a joyful hug that squeezed for all she was worth. "I'm so happy for you!"

" _Just for Dee?"_ Kenny snarked from within his hood. _"I'm part of this, too."_

"Shuttup, you've had girlfriends before. Dee keeps lecturing me on how humans only _pretend_ they're in love to make themselves less hopeless- you shoulda seen the rant she texted to me last Valentine's day. I've been waiting for this for _years."_

… _maybe you **are** experiencing a touch of obsession. _

Dee idly patted Wendy on the back, not really participating in the hug, but not rejecting it, either. She supposed she could understand the central conceit of Wendy's happiness, but it wasn't as if her core belief had changed. She still believed that the idea of _all-enduring-all-conquring love_ was a human conceit used to retroactively explain fits of utter _insanity_ caused by the core desire for _intimacy._ Framing it with the idea of love made the pursuit of lust seem so much more noble and a lot less crazy. If people could just _admit they liked to fucking touch each other_ without shame, there would be a lot less need for all the mushy and or _angsty_ explaining away of why humans spent so much of their time and energy to try and get together, and experienced such _anguish_ when that time and energy didn't funnel into a satisfying payoff. It was all just _hormones,_ tricking rational persons into irrational behaviors.

… then again, she enjoyed just being _around_ Kenny, no physical contact required. There was a friendship there, beyond an unsatisfied attraction that taunted her for as long as she was too nervous to just cross the threshold and _kiss the fucker._

 _Okay, maybe there's more to the idea of love than I give it credit for. Or at least romantic attraction. Stability is a factor._

From over Wendy's shoulder, she could see Kenny's face crinkling up into a smile, cheeks advancing upon his eyes that brought them into a grinning squint, all while looking at her. Nothing more than a _look,_ and still it made her face warm with a maddening blush as her eyes darted up towards the beams of the ceiling, and the white Christmas lights she'd hung up there to provide soft light to her basement haven.

Finally, Wendy let go and returned to her seat. _Now_ she took off her pack, the tightly coiled spring of anxiety within her person releasing and letting her pull her legs up into a crossed position on her beanbag. "Don't worry you guys, you already know that I can keep a secret. Does... does anyone else know?"

" _Butters. Dee wasn't sure how to turn him down, so we straight up told him what was going on."_ Kenny reported, his foot hooking on the strap of his bag to pull it closer and unzip it, getting out his things from school to at least make it _look_ like they were doing homework down here... despite the fact that none of the teachers had handed out assignments this particular Friday. _"We all hang out together now. He lets go out and do date-type stuff without it... y'know, **looking** like a date. Just a bunch of dudes, going out a movie, hanging out at the park, getting some shit to eat. Fucker's a real stand up guy." _

Dee cleared her throat, _loudly,_ trying to get things back on track. _We didn't meet up here to discuss relationship status. Can we get down to business, here?_

"Oh, right, government agents threatening to kill you. Yeah, that _would_ be the priority." Wendy was getting her head back together, always quick to collect herself after a fixation had passed. "I saw the e-mails you forwarded to me... who is this Doctor Kartwright person? She seems very familiar with you, and the name seems to ring a bell..."

As was habit, Kenny was about to answer for her. Dee could see it, but she knew his answer was incomplete. He hadn't met Kartwright, after all. Technically, _none_ of them had met her in the flesh in this timeline. Even _her_ contact with Kartwright was through a now-dead version of herself who happened to give the woman her contact info and make a promise about posting pro-vaccination stuff to help improve the US herd immunity and make the CDC happy.

 _Wendy's already heard my voice. No harm was done. Why not?_

"Zombie timeline." Dee spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. "You and Stan were with her when I ran into her. I don't remember it all very clearly, but I believe you were key to getting her onto our side so I could go back and _undo_ what had been done."

One could have dropped a pin into that outdated shag carpeting and still hear it hit the floor. Wendy's surprise came with a loose jaw that let her mouth hang open as she stared, and Kenny's was just a wide-eyed moment of _wow_ before he picked back up and began to laugh. It wasn't _what_ she said- the zombie timeline was old news, but rather _that_ she said anything. Aside from a mishap, Wendy had not heard Dee speak in the years that she'd known her, and it would seem hearing it in person was a far cry from accidentally listening in over the comms.

"Oh _calm down,_ it means I trust you." Dee stated flatly, wanting to move on. Speaking aloud was more expedient than trying to communicate shit through looks.

" _Come on, it took me at least five minutes to get over it the first time you talked to me."_ Kenny snickered. _"Give her a sec to recover."_

"She heard it over the radio- and it's not like she didn't know I _could."_

"You sound a lot _cuter_ in person." Wendy noted quietly. "I never expected your voice to sound so _sweet."_

Dee's head snapped over, _glaring_ as her voice dropped an octave." _Fuck you."_

" _Now it's just sexy."_ Kenny swooned, over-dramatic as he teased. _"Wouldn't she make the best little dominatrix?"_

"Can we _please_ get back on topic, here?" Dee pleaded with the tone of a demand, through tightly gritted teeth as her cheeks turned a delightful shade of red. "Death threats, angry government agencies, ticking clock, etcetera?"

" _Right, right, right."_ Wendy agreed, though she had a wide grin on her face that hadn't yet let go of the fact that Dee responded so well to certain kinds of needling. "Kenny made it sound like you already had a plan to tell them exactly what they can do with their job, but I still haven't heard _what it was_ they asked you to do... though in those e-mails, it was pretty clear you didn't think too highly of it."

Dee let out a disgruntled groan, leaning back in her beanbag chair as her heels were allowed to slide out over the carpeting, toes coming up as her hands stuffed themselves into the pocket of her hoodie. "It's _advertising-_ it's _fucking ridiculous_ that they'd fuckin' try to shoot me over something so petty and inconsequential _,_ but I get the feeling this is more about _making me behave_ than anything else. I feel like they picked this job as a test to see if I'd do as I was told, and if I _don't,_ I'm useless to them and might as well be dead."

"Kartwright suggested it was a little bit more than that- you're _worse_ than useless if you don't march to their tune. You're a _rogue agent._ Those threats about upending the government? You may not be ready to do that _right now,_ but I'm betting that's exactly the sort of thing the President and her goons are afraid of. You existing under your own free will, not loyal to them by some means, even fear? _That's their worst nightmare."_

" _So we wanna flip the script and provoke a response by... doing what? The exact opposite of what you've been told to do?"_ Kenny quested. _"That just sounds like a fast way to trigger the headhunt, not that we haven't outfoxed those assholes before. Usually when we dick them around though, they aren't shooting to kill."_

Dee shook her head. "I could do a smear campaign against the thing they want me to promote, but... yeah, that would just put me under the rebellion category, and they send in the cavalry. _Not_ the response we want."

"So what do we do instead?" Wendy quested.

" _Pointed insult_ is the weapon." Dee explained. "I want to strike a _personal_ nerve with the President and get that fucker to come down here, and then I'm going to force a face-to-face negotiation. No more intermediaries."

" _And how the hell do you plan to do that?"_ Kenny's inquiry was skeptic at best.

Dee smirked. "I'm going to promote the _competition_."

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

Wendy joins the 'people Dee will talk to' club! … after an accident that also brings her into the club of knowing Mysteributt is a thing. XD

Not a whole lot of comments today, remember that reviews are a wonderful way to motivate the author! Y'all keep being awesome out there!

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	5. Talking to Teenagers is Hard

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Talking to Teenagers is Hard::**

Kenny and Wendy departed after Dee's family had eaten dinner. Her father had cooked, calling the kids up from the basement just as he was putting a big pot of hearty beef and barley stew on the table. This particular batch had included a twist with sun-dried tomatoes and dried mushrooms being used to pump up the flavor of the broth, and big chunks of carrot that had been simmered until soft. Her mother arrived home only seconds after everyone had sat down, explaining that it had been a busy day at the office before she joined the table and rounded the group out to a total of five. Kenny, who was practically a _fixture_ at dinner these days, caught very little attention as the oh-so-articulate Wendy brightly entertained small-talk about school and asked after details of the days of the adults at the table.

There was something really _nice_ about that- Dee could understand why her father liked feeding people so much. It brought a certain kind of warmth into the house, one that was deeply missed when it came time for guests to depart. Although, Dee could rest assured that they were sent on with full stomachs, and Kenny had a container of piping hot leftovers to keep his hands warm on the walk home.

As the door closed behind her friends, she turned around to find her parents sitting on the couch... looking at her. Dinner hadn't been cleaned up yet. Usually that was the first thing dad busied himself with; getting the dishes to the kitchen and wiping down the table. The interruption to the routine make her stare back at them, cocking her head to the side as her brows came together on her forehead.

"Sweetie... we'd like to talk with you, if you've got a second." Her mother said, kindly but also _tentative._ She had such a _soft_ face; round features, complimented by brown, curly hair that Dee had obviously inherited... though her mother was much better at keeping hers in line. Almost in spite of all of this, however, she had _shrewd_ eyes that always betrayed her. Even as she spoke softly, sweetly, there was something _troubling_ her, and it was shared between herself and Dad.

"It's nothing serious, Sport." Her father added. "But it is _important."_

 _Fucking cocksucking crack whore with a lollie up her ass, what **now?**_ Dee stepped up to join her parents, sitting between them on the couch where they had made space for her. It felt... _awkward._ Like no one knew how to start the conversation.

 _Welp,_ the house was empty, and it was the evening hours; chances of someone coming by spontaneously were pretty low.

"What's going on?" She asked quietly.

" _Nothing, nothing!"_ Her mother reassured, but her voice had risen with the tension. "It's just... _well..."_

"Your mother and I have just realized how quickly you're growing up, kiddo." Her father chimed in. "I mean... heck, _fourteen,_ that's a pretty big deal, huh? You're not that far from being all grown up, and we've been worried about- I mean-"

" _Talking about."_ Mom corrected. " _Talking_ about the fact that... well, you might be going through what all teenagers go through."

Dee felt like going boneless and just letting herself slide off the couch. Perchance she'd hit her head on the coffee table, for dramatic effect. _I'm getting death threats from the government and you guys wanna talk to me about dating. Chocolate coated rat shit in crispy rice cereal, your timing_ _ **sucks.**_

"I know you don't want me dating." She responded flatly. "You guys think me having _friends_ is dangerous."

Not that she'd heard the riot act on _that_ one a hundred times or so. Mom was the worst for it; always encouraging her towards more pragmatic courses of action... if driven by a _paranoid_ sense of logic _._ Her mother wanted her to assume that _anyone_ could be an enemy, or a possible hostage to one- that making friends was flirting with disaster, and any kid she shared information with would sell her out in a _heartbeat_ if their safety or even their _comfort_ was threatened. No doubt her parents would _heavily disapprove_ of her recent actions if they knew of them; the fact that she'd shared her real name with _two_ people, one of which was _very likely_ to use it against her at some point... but she'd taken precautions against that eventuality. And in the other case, well...

 _She trusted Kenny._ Telling him her name was her crossing into the territory of opening a relationship with him, of letting him peer into her _identity._ She was more than just the rumors and the viral posts to him; he had interest in the flesh and blood human who lived with the powers that made her every action the subject of the public forum... and that was more flattering than all the _likes_ and _retweets_ in the world. She felt it only fair that she reward that effort, and mark the beginning of whatever the hell it was they were engaging in, with providing him with the most basic information one human used to identify another; a name.

"Well, _not necessarily- ow!"_

Dad had been cut off by a swift knock to the head over the back of the couch, Mom reaching across to keep him from talking their daughter back from the conclusion she'd already made. "It's the safest way to go about things, sweetie. We've gotten a little more wiggle room over the years, thanks to you, but getting cocky could bring it all down... when you're a teen, it's easy to get _overconfident,_ to think there's nothing in the world that can touch you. That feeling can get more... _intense_ when you're interested in someone. More so when they return that interest. You feel like as long as you're with them, there's nothing in the world that could hurt you- but that's not true."

She really could not roll her eyes any harder. Really, the muscles that controlled those movements ached slightly for how hard she was pushing up and over while lids hovered half-closed, leaving her with almost a possessedlook for how fucking _done_ she was. _Overconfidence? Really?_ She'd been experiencing rather the _opposite_ of that of late. No, no, the paranoia had been taking hold, the tension, the _terror_ that everything _would fall the fuck apart._

Really, time spent with Kenny was becoming some of the only time she didn't feel like she was coming undone at the seams.

"I _know better."_ She stressed to her parents, hands coming together in her lap for her fingers to interlock as she closed her eyes completely, seeing as it appeared neither adult in the room had noticed her hardcore eye roll. Or they had, and still wanted a further response beyond teen disrespect. "I _know_ it's not just me; that if I mess up, we're all in hot water. _I get it."_

 _Not that, y'know, you guys fell in love or anything. Y'all managed to find the mood in a fucking government lab- how do you expect me **not** to have a healthy libido in the pubescent playground that is **middle school?**_

"Hey, you don't have to be like that, champ." Her father chimed in, ever the _good cop_ in this routine. "Being a teen is stressful, and confusing. And you're worrying about a lot of other stuff most kids never have to fuss over; it isn't _fair..._ but our lives have to be a little different. We need you to be smart to keep the family safe. We need you to be _grown up. Responsible."_

 _I want to punch you so hard right now._

She didn't look at either of them. She faced forward, looking into the black screen of the TV across from the couch that was off, imagining briefly a scenario in which she upended the coffee table into it to shatter it and likely put a sizable hole in the wall behind it... or at least fuck up the wallpaper.

"I can handle it." She promised. "You don't have to worry about it." She _lied._

 _God fucking the entire orgy that made the platypus, I hate this shit._

"I'm going downstairs." She announced, refusing to let this conversation go on any longer. Standing up from the couch, she wasn't even fully aware of her person but for the heat of angry adrenaline coursing through her from the back of her neck down through her limbs and back up again.

"Sweetie-" Her mother called after her, standing up from the couch as Dee _stalked_ past on heavy steps, making a line for the basement door. " _Sweetie,_ we just-"

 _Just what, Just What, JUST WHAT, JUSTWHAT, JUSTWHAT-_

" _Just what?!"_ Dee suddenly _rounded,_ glaring back at her parents. Mom standing, dad sitting, both looking back at her with wide-eyed shock that seemed to have _just now_ understood that they'd wandered into a minefield. "Just _fucking_ what?! You realized I'm a _human_ who might have a _sexuality?_ Or maybe some _free will?"_ She stepped towards them, but not like she was going to return to her spot on the couch. No, she was a predator, eating up ground between prey, one dangerous stomp at a time. "Or maybe you just figured out that you've been _putting the safety of the whole family on me since I was FIVE?!"_

Tears. The came suddenly as she raised her voice. The depth of her breath shook, and when it drove out, it tore at her throat and exploded forth with as much volume as her little body could produce.

"You're always trying _to look out for me,_ but you're also _looking out for fucking_ _ **you-**_ so you've _decided_ that _your safety_ is more important than _my enjoyment of life._ I _fucking get it,_ you don't have to _rub it the fuck in. I'm_ the kid, _I_ have to be responsible, _I'm_ the one who might make stupid decisions- _**you're**_ _the morons who conceived a baby in a fucking lab!"_

Mom was taken aback. Those eyes, usually aware, usually ready for anything, expectant of trouble, had started wide and round and then squinted as a few blinks turned them glassy. Dad had stood up from the couch, stepping forward and taking his wife by the shoulders. He held her a moment, giving her a supportive squeeze, before leaving her side to approach their kid. He was calm, but focused; the man she usually knew best as a _goofy layabout_ becoming serious in the silence that followed calamitous screaming.

"Alyssa, what's wrong?"

He spoke so simply, so softly, but it cut to the core as she stood there trembling with fat tears rolling down her face. She was so fucking _mad_ at them because they didn't even _know_ everything she'd been doing behind the scenes to try and keep them safe.

She didn't want them to know.

 _What if I fucked it all up?_

The thought was like a heavy weight over the back of her neck, forcing her head down. She wanted to hit something. _She wanted to hit herself._ She wanted to take her balled up fists and plow them into her brow _over and over again until she bled._

She felt her father's hand on her shoulder. The weight got no lighter, but she found the strength to look _up,_ despite it. There he was, that goofy fucking guy with his wide rounded chin and his button nose, offering her a pleading look that begged her to _talk, talk_ so they could better _understand._

She looked beyond him, to her mother, who had one leg bent so that her knee rested on the seat of the couch, her hand on the back rest, looking on with a sort of shock that had trouble comprehending just how much _stress_ her daughter might have been experiencing. Her dear girl, who was usually always so _good_ about never speaking, about never making a noise, driven to _scream_ at them with such ferocity.

She looked down, searching for the right reaction to this situation. For the _correct answer,_ one that would satisfy.

"... I died on the first day of school."

* * *

The conversation she'd had with her parents had been a long one. One that went back to the first day of school, and a botched timeline that had gone _terribly, terribly_ wrong, and the agreement she'd made with Dr. Kartwright in her attempt to fix things for their family... and the threats that were being made, now.

Mom was holding her tight, cradling her like she were a little baby when she was nothing of the sort. They were back on the couch, sat down and talking properly, like they were some kind of family or some shit. Where Mom held her, reclined into one armrest, Dad sat against the other and listened attentively, quietly, digesting all the things that were weighing on his daughter's mind.

"They still don't know _exactly_ who you are, do they?" Dad surmised. "No solid identity... we could still run."

" _No!"_ Dee barked in an instant, feeling her mother's arms tighten around her as she felt her body jerk involuntarily. " _... no._ Please, I don't... I don't want to run. This is _home_ now, I... we never got to _have_ that, before. We were _always_ moving, a new place _every couple of months._ I... _we_ have a plan. Me and my friends. We made a plan. I'm gonna fix it."

"Sweetie..." Mom cooed. "It's the _federal government._ There's not much fixing them."

"No, _no,_ you don't get it, I've been... _testing_ my abilities, they work offline! I've got a working theory now, and _if I'm right, I can make all this shit stop."_

"You've been _what-"_

Mom's voice had hardened, dropping down the same way hers did when she was angry... but she was cut off by a reproachful look on Dad's face.

"What kind of tests?" Dad asked instead.

"The first bit was an _accident-_ the _mock trial_ with Ms. Lehman; me and my friends noticed that the crowd... _reacted_ to me. I didn't even talk, but I had an effect on their mood. Then there was the singing contest at school- I... I participated. I didn't _sing_ in person, but I recorded my voice and altered it so I'd sound more like a boy for the song- but _before that,_ I made this glitchy noise that really fucking _hurts_ and pisses people off, and in that noise I encoded my voice, heavily distorted, giving a number of commands as sort of if-then statements, like computer logic. _If this hurts, then my performance is terrible. If this annoys you, then vote for Eric Cartman. If this makes you angry, then don't vote for me._ The words were unintelligible, _but it worked!_ I lost the contest, Cartman got second place even though he wasn't even _there,_ and I got booed of the stage- it was _a perfect_ response. I'm making a new one for my phone, to be deployed in emergencies-"

Dad suddenly put his hands up, as if in defense, as a silent signal for her to stop a moment before looking over the top of his daughter's head to his wife. Whether he was drawing strength or looking for answers, she couldn't guess... but she supposed she had gone way outside the lines.

She still hadn't told them anything about Kenny.

"You said you made a plan." He finally said, looking to her again. "... what happens if it doesn't work?"

She blinked. She'd been avoiding that thought, in all honesty. If the singing contest had been nothing more than a _mind-boggling_ coincidence, as well as Cartman's seeming obedience to their deal and the priming noise she'd played for him, or there was some other factor she hadn't taken into account, and things went tits up?

"... I might be taken into custody." She answered, following that train of thought to its conclusion. "If I remain uncooperative, I may be killed."

Mom whimpered. She'd been crying off and on throughout this whole conversation, but this was probably the hardest she'd squeezed all night.

"And what happens to us?" Her father pressed.

"... the agents chasing us have pegged this house as the place to go before; chances are they'd cut off an escape and take you guys in, too."

All the fight had been taken out of her voice. She knew these risks were intolerable to her parents.

 _This is the part where you tell me it's time to pack. Moving van will be here, first thing in the morning, and it's off we go again._

"Which means we'll have to be somewhere else." Dad concluded.

Mom tensed, letting out a sharp gasp. "... what... what are you _talking_ about...? We... we're not _staying._ We _can't."_

"Didn't you hear her?" Dad persisted. "She's got a plan- she's stubborn as you and as optimistic as I am; and when she succeeds, _we won't have to run ever again."_

" _... dad?"_

She couldn't believe her ears. She really couldn't. Looking up from beneath the _living restraint_ that was her mother's arms, she felt her jaw hanging loose. After screaming, and talking until her throat was dry and raw, she felt as if she might have chatted herself into some kind of delirium where she just hallucinatedthe people around her saying what she wanted to hear.

But he reached out and ruffled her curly-ass hair, and she knew the feeling of his fingers and the warmth of his hand. This was real.

"You're not the only one who's sick of running away, Lyssie." He pointed out. "... I like having a home, too."

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

 _HER NAME IS ALYSSA._

Hoo-boy, this one was full of feels, but it's also just _so important._ The whole _point_ of the ending of TFBW was that the New Kid's family was having trouble due to _not fucking talking_ to each other... we needed to catch the parents up on what the hell is going on. XD

Minus the dating because that's gonna be it's own kettle of fish later on... _muhuhahahaaa_

Heads up that I'm heading on _vacation!_ Hubby and I hop on a plane tomorrow, and we will be gone until the 17th of February. I am bringing the laptop with me, but I doubt I'm going to get much writing done, if only because one should enjoy a vacation while they're taking it. Hell, my brother paid for the trip, it would be kinda insulting if I spent the whole time with my nose buried in my computer.

As always, I thank you all for your readership!

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	6. There's Always a Butt

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – There's Always a Butt::**

[Received, 6:14] Karen said thx for the food  
[Received, 6:30] u up for killin some time later  
[Received, 6:55] dude u alive or did you leave ur phone with another dead time twin  
[Received, 7:40] okay bad joke but u dont leave me hanging usually

There was an intense feeling of panic when Dee finally checked her phone. She hadn't even thought about the device throughout her talk with her parents, too charged up to feel it buzz in her pocket. Now that she'd gotten a moment to breathe and duck down into the basement for her habitual cardio, she'd found a total of four texts waiting from Kenny- all mostly chill but with a growing line of anxiety as he tried to find out why she'd disappeared for nearly two hours.

Not even on the elliptical yet, and she could feel her heart thudding up in her throat, embarrassment driving her thumbs over the touch screen of her phone for a speedy response.

[Sent, 7:56] Jesus shitting Easter eggs I'm sorry  
[Sent, 7:57] Parents wanted to have a talk, it went really long  
[Sent, 7:57] I swear to fuck I'm not dead sorry sorry sorry

There was something about her feeling of panic that wouldn't let her get on with her planned workout, staring at her phone and willing a response that told her things were cool. When one didn't come right away, she went back to her home screen, idly opened one of her apps, stared at it blankly for a few seconds without doing anything, closed it, and returned to her messenger to continue staring at it.

When her phone buzzed, she just about jumped out of her skin and nearly dropped it.

[Received, 7:59] its cool no worries  
[Received, 8:00] where were u? everything ok?

[Sent, 8:00] Everything is okay, yeah, but...  
[Sent, 8:00] gimme a sec, gotta put my words together

[Received, 8:01] always a butt  
[Received, 8:01] gdi auto correct BUT

She blinked at her phone, and then snickered, almost certain that he threw that 'misspelling' in on purpose. Her _buts_ tended to get a bit heavy, and tonight was no exception. Her body felt loose around the joints, as if her muscles were nothing more than _goo_ around a vaguely articulated skeleton, while an empty exhaustion lingered in her core and discouraged her from anything active, be it moving or thinking. As she typed, putting her thoughts together, sluggish feet drug their way over to the cubby under the stairs for her to plop her butt into her bean bag- the white one with the star drawn on it.

[Sent, 8:06] It's been a fucking roller coaster dude  
[Sent, 8:06] I talked to my parents  
[Sent, 8:06] They know pretty much everything now.  
[Sent, 8:07] Minus us. Wasn't sure if they could take me dating on top of... everything else.  
[Sent, 8:07] I didn't mean to. They wanted to have this serious talk with me and I sorta just burst.  
[Sent, 8:08] Mom wanted to move us again, but dad thinks we've got a good shot  
[Sent, 8:08] … it was really fucking scary. For a second there, I was sure they were going to make us run away again.  
[Sent, 8:09] I don't want to leave. Dad doesn't either. Mom's scared, but I think she wants to stay, too.

She was crying again.

She had felt her face get hot as she'd been typing out the idea of having to move, remembering that fear and how real it had been for a few terrible seconds, sitting up on the couch with her parents. Sniffing hard, wiping her face on her forearm, she was thankful Kenny wasn't currently present to see how much of a _goddamn mess_ she was right now.

[Sent, 8:10] Not sure if they APPROVE, but they've given it a 'go'. They're making their own plans as to where to be when everything goes down.  
[Sent, 8:10] Just in case this shit didn't feel high stakes enough

[Received, 8:11] fucking wow  
[Received, 8:11] do u wanna come over? im helping karen with homework, u could hang out with us if you need to cool off

She thought seriously about that offer. Normally she would have jumped on it, but at the moment she just felt too fucking tired. Allowing herself to _sit_ brought her gelatinous mass into an almost _puddle_ state, where standing seemed an impossibility- much less putting on her boots and making the walk over to Kenny's place in the October snow of the Colorado mountains. It was only sheer force of habit that was going to get her onto the elliptical, and the fact that she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep until she bathed that would put her through the shower afterwards. Tempting though it was...

[Sent, 8:13] I'd say hell yes but I am the human equivalent of a burnt marshmallow right now. Tell Karen I said hi?

The decision was made, and she leaned forward to sit up and tug off her electric blue hoodie; she had black sleeveless on underneath that was a much better choice for sweating in. Static electricity made her hair even more crazy than usual, requiring a rough pawing back as she picked up her phone once more to find she'd not gotten a text response from Kenny, but a photo- a selfie of himself, Karen sitting on his lap and getting hugged against him with one arm as his other hand was clearly up to hold his phone for the shot. Karen was grinning broadly, blue eyes shining as her big brother perched his chin on top of her head and grinned as well, his hood down and a gap-toothed smile on display. They'd also put stickers on the photo, a rainbow on one corner and a happy sun on the other.

It was hard not to smile after getting a picture like that. She felt it only right to take one of her own and respond in kind, but one look at her reflection told her that idea was a poor one. Her face was still red, eyes bloodshot and puffy underneath. If she sent a photo of herself like this, Karen would probably go nuts with questions that Kenny would be fielding on whether or not she was okay.

For now, she'd settle for a less visual response.

[Sent, 8:15] You two are gonna make me diabetic with pictures like that.  
[Sent, 8:16] Try not to have too much fun without me, I'll see ya tomorrow. : )

* * *

"Where the _fuck_ is everybody?!"

 _Saturday._ The best day to hang out, catch a movie, bum around, play video games, plan plans and scheme schemes- and yet, Cartman found each and every one of his friends _out of contact._ He'd gotten up, texted Kyle- no answer. Ate breakfast, texted Stan- no answer. Sassed at his mother, got a pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek before heading upstairs, texted Kenny- _no fucking answer._ He flopped on his bed, unwilling to get dressed for the day just yet. If today was going to end up being a lazy stay-at-home kind of day, he'd rather stay in his Pjs. At the same time, however, he began to get the sinking feeling that everyone _else_ being unavailable was _not_ due to the fact that it was just another sleepy Saturday morning.

He began to select every single contact he had for fellow guys in town, sending off a mass message to everybody;

[Sent; 10:44] HOLY SHIT MY HOUSE IS ON FIRE

One, two, three minutes later, someone _finally fucking responded._

[Received, 10:47] Like we haven't heard that one a few hundred times. Screw this, I'm blocking your number.

 _Well fuck you too, Clyde._

[Sent; 10:48] wait  
[Sent; 10:48] Wait  
[Sent; 10:48] WAIT  
[Sent; 10:48] I just wanna know where everyone is. No one is answering.

No one else's 'seen' notifications were popping up besides Clyde, and that son of a bitch may have blocked him instead of responding. What the hell was going on? There hadn't been some kind of event he'd forgotten about... his mom would have reminded him. Staring at the display of his phone, he let out frustrated noises as his legs kicked over the edge of his bed. Were they pranking him?

 _Did those **fuckers** make plans without me? _

[Received, 10:50] Everyone's at Bebe's house. Didn't you get the invite? She needed male models for her fashion show.  
[Received, 10:50] She's measuring everyone today so she can tailor her outfits to the person modeling them.

"Modeling?!"

Cartman suddenly sat up, grasping his phone with both hands and briefly entertaining the thought of throwing it across the room as hard as he could. Heels hit hard against the bed frame, and he glared down at the device as if _it_ were supposed to provide him with an explanation for this. Male models were _fucking awesome!_ They got to be rich and famous and popular just for _looking_ _good!_ And he was beefy as fuck- why the hell had _no one_ contacted him?!

 _Intimidation, duh._

There was no point in texting Clyde back; he had already learned what he needed to know to get his day started.

* * *

"Oh, _wow!_ You weren't kidding."

Upon the report that Dee had successfully gathered some volunteers, Bebe requested that everyone meet her at her house for measurements. She had prototypes of the entire male line already made, after all, but if they were going to look their best at the show they would need to be altered to those wearing them. Deciding who was going to wear what, getting exact sizes, and deciding on finishing touches that would really make all the work shine; these were her tasks at the moment. The fact that Dee got back to her on Friday night was a relief; she was worried that he might wait until later in the weekend to get around to her request. He'd been nothing but reliable in the past, but not always the most _expedient..._ and she didn't remember too well the last time she actually _talked_ to him. Boys sometimes got sore about that and drug their feet, or did a half-assed job.

Neither of these was the case with Dee. Bebe answered the door to find no less than _nine_ boys crowded at her front stoop; Dee himself at the head of the group with his hands in the pocket of his _garishly_ bright hoodie, flanked by the expected group of Kenny, Kyle, and Stan, and further surrounded by Butters, Kevin, Scott, Jimmy, and Clyde. Scott and Clyde were a little on the _heavy_ side for the things she'd designed, and really she had hoped that Dee might be able to talk Tweek and Craig into coming, but that was neither here nor there- the point was that Dee had delivered, and she would have a show.

Better than that, he'd somehow avoided netting Cartman- she'd been genuinely worried that he might be among those gathered, which would have been a _problem._ Not just for his attitude, but for the fact that she simply did not have anything designed to look good on someone of his _girth._

For that, she _beamed_ at the group standing on her doorstep, standing aside and waving to welcome. "Thank you all for coming! Please, come in, come in! I've got everything ready in the living room; if we keep this organized it shouldn't take long at all."

Holding the door, Bebe counted as _eight_ boys entered her home, piling up around the couch in the main room to either sit on it the way it was intended, perch on an arm rest, or lean against the back. Peering back outside, she found Dee _turned away,_ moving as if to leave. "Huh? You're not going to participate?"

He stopped, great bush of red hair blocking most of his face as he looked over his shoulder at her with a raised brown eyebrow; the only tell towards his natural hair color. For a guy, he kept up with his roots pretty meticulously.

There was something in that expression, even half-seen, that said _I did what you asked, what else did you want?,_ challenging her to tell him that he hadn't exceeded expectations by bringing this group here _and_ avoiding Eric. A less determined woman might have been deterred by that look, but she wasn't going to let some mild stink eye keep her from asking for a little more.

"Well, it is an _autumn_ collection, and I had thought your hair would go _really well_ with a certain outfit..." _Flattery never hurt,_ "But! Even if you don't want to be part of the show, I could _really_ use an assistant- could I borrow you for just a little while longer? You're already here."

He watched her for a few more seconds, and then let out a sigh, tipping back onto one heel to pull an about-face and return to the doorstep. Hands removed from the pouch of his hoodie, and he held them out, palms facing her in a posture of _Alright, what do you want me to do?_

Bebe knew this was the point at which she had won; she grabbed Dee by the hand and led him inside, pushing the door shut behind him and arriving in the living room with the rest of the group. All eyes were on her, and she moved with the confidence befitting a budding fashion designer; head up, shoulders back, ready to take on the world. In the living room, she had various tools at the ready on the coffee table, as well as a rolling rack of prototype outfits with their related accessories to keep it all organized. Measuring tape, pins, various colors of washable chalk for marking places where things that needed to be changed, the colors flagging her to _how_ something needed to be changed as a way of keeping her organized... yes, everything was in order.

Now she just had to organize her _human_ resources.

Taking up the position between coffee table and TV, Bebe released her grasp on Dee and clapped her hands together to get everyone's attention- a faint buzz of conversation had picked up in the moments it had taken to persuade Dee not to just take off. " _Okay!_ As I'm sure you guys heard, I'm going to be holding a fashion show at school, and I'd like all of you to model for me. Before we get down to work, though, let's talk schedule; the show is going to be taking place right after school _on Halloween._ I promise, the show won't be longer than an hour, so if you've got parties to get to or siblings to trick-or-treat with, you should be home well before dark. My parents are also willing to give rides to a couple volunteers, if you need it. Any conflicts?"

Boys looked at one another, Kyle sort of half-raising his hand as he questioned what the appropriate etiquette was for this function. "I'm supposed to come straight home to help my little brother with his costume make-up. He's going all out this year."

"We're going to have almost every girl in the grade at the show- if you can convince your little brother to come, we can do whatever make-up he wants back-stage." Bebe shot back; Ike was adorable. She'd have no trouble finding volunteers for that task... and they'd probably do a better job of it than Kyle, simply by measure of _experience with make-up._

"Oh shit, dude, _sweet._ I'll see if I can get my mom to bring him over."

" _Oh, can I bring my little sister, then?"_ Kenny spoke up without raising a hand, muffled voice identifying him. _"No one has to do her make-up, but she'd probably have a blast hanging out back stage."_

 _Awe, now that's just adorable. Such a good big brother._ "No problem; we might be able to find a few little things she can help out with, if she wants." Bebe swept a few blonde waves of hair over her ear, eagerly eyeing the rest. "Anyone else? I'm here to get this done, so please don't hesitate. I don't want to hear about conflicts at the last second."

No one else spoke up; eight blank faces stared at her. It was weird; she was used to at least getting a _response_ out of her girlfriends, even if that response was 'no, we're good.' These guys all looked more than a little _uncomfortable,_ taken out of their element and unsure how to act. Of the group, Butters was the only one that appeared relaxed- though Kenny also _seemed_ chill, but... well, it was hard to tell with that hood on him. Everyone else? Paying attention, but incredibly _awkward._

She supposed that was the cost of crossing the gender line; but _damnit_ if she wanted to design for both boys and girls. Sure, she could make pretty things for herself all day, but what about making cute things for guys? Daydreaming about this and that was an important pastime for a young lady, and all the best daydreams included a well-dressed young man... and how was he to _be_ well dressed unless someone designed something for him to wear?

"Great." She was dauntless, keeping her smile. "We're going to start with measurements. Dee is going to be assisting me, so we can do two at a time. Any volunteers for first? C'mon people, if you don't speak up I'm just gonna pick!"

She saw Butters preparing to put a hand up, but just as it appeared things were going to get rolling- there was a knock at the door. A firm knock, determined to be heard, one that caused Butter's hand to flintch back down and the boy himself to go "O-oh, did we forget somebody?" glancing about as his group as if he might predict who they'd forgotten.

Bebe looked to Dee, cocking her head slightly. He hadn't moved from her side, hands in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie as he waited to be useful. He looked back at her, a couple wayward trusses of dyed red hair flopping to one side as he returned the cock of the head, shrugging his shoulders to indicate he had no idea who else might have showed up.

With no additional information, Bebe went to the door to answer it.

It was not anyone whom she expected.

"May I... _help_ you?"

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

HOLY HELLO WE ARE BACK!

I am very sorry for the extended wait my friends. My vacation with my family was _awesome._ I enjoyed new food, got sunburnt, had a blast with my family, and all that good shit... and now? Now I am returned, and once again writing! WOO!

This chapter was a challenge, and assembled from a number of disparate pieces that I sorta jotted down on the various flights I rode on between places [Guam to Florida and back again is a lot of air time] I apologize if the flow is a little choppy, but I really wanted to get this show back on the road because _good fucking christ_ do I got some shit planned for y'all.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	7. Recon Should Have Been The First Step

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Recon Probably Should Have Been The First Step::**

Dee wasn't the only one who was straining their neck to see who it was on the other side of the door; all of the guys she'd gathered up were looking, too. She knew who they were all _expecting_ ; Cartman. She hadn't explicitly conveyed anyone that he wasn't invited, so it was fully possibly someone might have texted him and told him what was going on, or he might have found out via other means and come running to demand to be included.

What Dee _wasn't_ expecting was an overweight kid she'd never seen before in South Park.

No, no, that wasn't a _kid,_ that was a _midget._ There was a _grown fucking man_ with _dwarfism_ standing on Bebe's doorstep, dressed as if he were a kid. Distressed jeans, a sort of army-green zip up hoodie that was currently unzipped, and a yellow T underneath. He might have even passed for a kinda fat teenager if it weren't for the fact that his face was obviously that of an adult's; with thicker brows, a faint haze of black stubble, and the fine lines that came with age.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, maybe to modify his tone into one that he considered more in-tune with his... disguise? Or maybe he was a mentally ill person who actually believed he was a teenager and had followed the cluster of boys to Bebe's house? There was a number of possibilities, getting narrowed down in a hurry as Dee began picking up more detail on the guy. All of his clothing was _new-_ those distressed jeans were the sort someone paid two hundred dollars for to get them with the holes already made, the T shirt didn't have any color variation from washing or stains, and his hoodie was of the same quality _and_ still had the washing instruction tag sewn into the inside seam- something she always ripped out on the first day. That seemed to rule out insane person or misguided hobo; he was too _clean._ Was he undercover? The news station employed a dwarf...

"Is Dee here?" He asked Bebe, who had answered the door.

The question had the effect of spreading _tension._ All at once, Dee's supposition had been given a direction... and Bebe gripped the door as if she intended to slam it shut in the stranger's face.

" _Who's asking?"_

Kenny was suddenly up from the couch that everyone had piled onto, approaching the door to join Bebe and stand tall over the short man. He didn't take a tone of aggression- rather a friendly request of who was calling before the phone got passed on to anyone. It was a quick-witted cover that he was providing, which lasted long enough for Dee to step back and remove herself from the line-of-sight from the front stoop. It began with escaping the gaze of the man on the steps, and then her path continued in side-steps until she was standing just to the other side of the open door- where Kenny and Bebe could clearly see her, but this unknown man could not.

"Oh... uh, I'm Steve." The man introduced himself. "Me and Dee are friends from one of his old schools- Kingston Minnesota, first grade. My family just moved here."

 _Steve- I don't know any Steve. Though he's got the location and the time right; that **is** where I lived when I was in first grade. Who is this guy? Where did he get that information?_

This whole situation was ringing alarm bells in her head. She shook her head in a sharp _no_ as a signal to Kenny and Bebe, as well as to the onlooking knot of guys on the couch who might have pointed at her in the misguided belief that they were being helpful.

"Is he here?" Steve asked. "I'm really excited to see him again. I saw your group all going the same way, I thought maybe someone would know..."

 _That's a cute way to say you followed us._ Dee was already doing the math. This guy was playing at being a kid their age, saying he knew her, and after the recent warnings she'd gotten from Kartwright? This set-up screamed _spy._ They'd sent someone in to keep an eye on her and report on her progress, no doubt.

"You just missed him." Bebe reported. "He went out the back to go see his girlfriend- he's always sneaking out like that."

"Could I come in for a minute-?"

" _You're trespassing."_ Bebe's response was instant and sharp, those tight knuckles on the door sliding down towards the knob to get a better grip. "Goodbye." The next second, she threw the door shut with a punctuated _slam_. Stepping up, she locked the deadbolt with one hand and motioned Dee _down_ with the other. At first Dee didn't understand, but a glance behind herself revealed that there was a forward-facing window that might let the stranger peer into the living room. In an instant, she dropped to the floor and flattened herself to the wall.

Bebe, without missing a beat, turned back to the group at large. _"Okay everyone!"_ She projected, fully expecting that the asshole on her doorstep was still listening at the door. "Let's start going through the rack and picking out who is going to wear what. I'll be giving advice on colors and complexions, but don't be afraid to shout out your personal preference." Then, as she was stepping back into the group, she grabbed Kenny by the hood of his parka to pull him close enough to murmur " _Call the police."_

 _Holy shit_ was the only thought that could pulse its way through Dee's mind as she laid there on Bebe's living room carpet, watching as the girl conducted herself as if nothing were wrong. There was no way she could have known just how _important_ her actions had been, but she seemed to pick up on the surface level of danger and simply _rolled with it. Intuitive_ was the word for it, but Dee would have called it outright _heroic_ if she were given to spoken praise. It was hard not to admire that particular kind of quick-witted action.

Bebe also had a _really_ cute butt from this angle.

 _Aaaugh, fucking focus! Not the fucking time!_

* * *

If 'Steve' had still been skulking around when the police arrived, he was excessively well hidden. A single officer showed up, parking a squad car in front of Bebe's house as a show of force and security. He'd done a careful walk-around of the premises after exchanging pleasantries with Bebe- although Bebe had accused the 'kid' on her stoop of being a creep towards _her_ rather than mentioning anything about him looking for Dee, as she felt it would gain more sympathy and encourage a more serious response from the officer. It appeared to work; the officer was thorough before finally giving the all-clear and offering to leave the squad car parked for the day and have his partner pick him up- such tactics usually worked to keep less determined creepers away. Bebe accepted the offer, bade the officer goodbye when his partner showed up, and curtly shut the door.

Bebe had continued working with everyone while the officer had been searching around the place, with Dee up and helping now. Chalk markings, pins in seams, color comparisons, and chatter about accessories had been the theme for that time- by the time the officer was done and ready to move on, so was Bebe; carefully hanging her prototypes back up and bidding all of her volunteers a goodbye and well-wishing them to enjoy their Saturday.

Seven boys filed out of her home, leaving two people behind; Dee and Kenny. They'd moved to leave with everyone else, but she'd strictly signaled them back to the couch without a word. No, a strong finger and a flick of her wrist was enough to say _sit the fuck down, you're not getting out of this just yet,_ and neither of them really had the guts to _argue_ with the look on her face. So down they plopped, back on the empty-feeling couch as she silently finished putting away her autumn collection and organizing her sewing tools on the coffee table.

Dee got the feeling of an interrogation, where Bebe was using this time of silence to unnerve herself and Kenny; _making them sweat and more likely to talk._

" _So."_ She finally began, terse as she put a large set of fabric shears in line with an oblong box of pins, highlighting the corner of the table where all the _sharp_ things currently were. "Would either of you like to tell me what in the world _that_ was about?"

Kenny glanced to Dee. The trouble was that neither of them knew _exactly_ what it was about. It _probably_ was someone from the government sent to monitor her, but it wasn't like they were going to _tell_ Bebe that. Dee's lips pressed thin, eyebrows diving together over her nose as her eyes pressed upwards beneath her brow. _I don't fucking know, man, make some shit up._

" _Dee really would rather not talk about it."_ Kenny offered, looking back to Bebe. _"That guy used to stalk him, but there was never enough evidence for a restraining order."_

" _Ohmygod-"_ Bebe's reaction was instant, looking to Dee with wide eyes; _green_ eyes that shined with sympathy and shock. "Dee...? Is that true?"

 _Kenny you beautiful bastard._ Dee would have _smirked_ if not for the fact that Bebe still yet needed convincing. She'd pat Kenny on the back for quick thinking later- for now, she allowed her tight lips to deepen into a frown. Eyes went down, staring at her knees as her hands drove into the pocket of her hoodie. Chin nearly to chest, trusses of red hair falling in front of her face, she counted out _one, two, three_ seconds of hesitation before bobbing her head in a subtle nod.

" _Please don't tell anyone."_ Kenny pleaded. _"The guys would rip on him so hard if they knew- they'd treat it like a joke."_

Bebe stared on for a few seconds longer, and then withdrew her hands from her array of sharp objects to press them to her chest, crossing over one another with reverence. "I won't breath a word." She promised, holding the sainted posture for a second before her hands came back out, palms up, holding uncertain possibilities. "But if that kid just moved to town... do you think he manipulated his parents into moving here, just because of Dee?" Without confirmation of the thought, Bebe shuddered at the assumed creep level as her arms lowered down to rest upon her legs in her kneeling posture next to the coffee table. "I'll let the girls know that he's bad news- I won't say why, but if he's going to our school, now? We can make it... _unpleasant_ for him."

Still looking down at her knees, playing at the psychologically traumatized victim, Dee suddenly realized something.

Both persons she was sharing this room with were _quick-witted_ and _blond,_ and she had the hots for both of them.

 _Poseidon riding a wave of jizz on Hitler's corpse, I have a **type**. _

"Oh, before I forget." Bebe suddenly got up from where she'd been kneeling. She bustled out of the room, long enough that Dee lifted her chin from her chest and glanced to Kenny. She could _feel_ him looking at her, but it was hard to suss out his expression when he had his hood up and tight. If she were to go by instinct, she'd say he was trying to be supportive. That conclusion gained credibility when his hand crawled over, turning upwards in an offer that she took him up on- her own hand coming out of hiding in her pocket to grasp him by the palm, squeeze, and skitter back into hiding as Bebe returned to the living room. "For you!" She proclaimed, holding out to Dee... a card. Slightly bigger than a postcard, printed on with black and orange ink that created a lace pattern around the edges. Clipart of a happy pumpkin and a bat appeared on the front, with a fancy font proclaiming... "It's an invitation for my Halloween party- I'm holding it the day after Halloween so kids can bring any candy their parents didn't hand out. I figured after you helped gather some volunteers for me..." Bebe smiled; the kind of smile that was all about turning on the charm to ensure Dee wouldn't have the stones to refuse.

Slowly, Dee reached out and took the card, looking at it front and back. The back side had the time, the place, a reminder that it was a costume party, and that she was welcome to bring a 'plus one'.

She glanced to Kenny for a split second before nodding, putting the invitation in her pocket.

"I'll also be inviting all the models that _show up."_ Bebe added, possibly noting that glance as a _what about him?_ gesture. "It's sorta doubling as a _wrap-party,_ but you've already helped a _lot."_

" _What's the rules on the plus-one?"_ Kenny asked. _"I know some people..."_

"No younger siblings." Bebe answered at once. "This is a _teenager_ party."

 _I think the kind of people Kenny was thinking of were the sort you have to pay for, and who are likely to spike the punch..._ Dee _did_ smirk faintly now, elbowing Kenny in the ribs.

Bebe made a gesture, welcoming them to get up and leave after she'd held them up. She walked them both to the door, holding it with a smile. "Thanks again, guys." She bade them, waving as they passed.

Kenny waved back with a muffled _"Anytime, Bebe."_ Dee put her head down and counted her lucky stars.

As it shut behind them, Dee found Kenny leaning in to her to say " _Well, aren't you just a **stud?** Did you see the way she was **looking** at you?" _as they walked away from the door and past the squad car.

Dee glared up at him, posture tightening up as her shoulders rose up... but rosy cheeks betrayed her _. Shuttup, she's just happy because I helped out._

" _Hey, I'm just saying, if you guys make out at her party, I won't complain... so long as I get to **watch."**_

The idea alarmed her, sending a zing of electrical energy up her spine that forced her out of her slouch and made her stand up straight. It also led rather quickly to another well-aimed elbow into his ribs, very nearly knocking him off the sidewalk as they began heading towards Butters's house; they were slated to hang out today. _Don't even suggest it! My imagination doesn't need the encouragement!_

Laughing, Kenny dodged out of the way and began jogging ahead, quickly being forced into a sprint as Dee detected the possibility of a race and threw herself into the chase without hesitation. Kenny was agile, able to pull a few feet ahead for the first stretch of snowy sidewalk, but Dee was the one always working on endurance and speed; she caught up to him and got him by the jacket, dragging him around in a circle to stop him from running away and releasing him from the sudden speed-killing spin into a snowdrift in someone's yard. He went in, face first, and emerged with a snowball packed in his hands for instant retaliation.

Unbeknownst to them, hidden across the street, inside a nondescript white van, someone was _watching._ Watching as a pair of apparent boys goofed around in the snow, neither of them communicating in a manner that was applicable to lip reading and both too far away from their watcher to be listened to. Still, there was _familiarity_ in the movements, and _elation_ in the grinning face of the redhead- only an idiot would fail to realize they were close friends.

Only a moron would fail to realize that the redhead _had_ been at the blond girl's house, and had made efforts to make himself scarce, all while the boy in orange immediately jumped up in defense. It was _far_ from conclusive, but gut feelings went a long way in surveillance. His job didn't actually _start_ until the weekend was over and all these kids went back to school, but he liked to get a jump on things. _Proactive_ action, getting ahead of things as quickly as possible, was the way he liked to operate... and he was already getting useful information.

Agent Russel leaned back in the space he'd set up within his van; a vehicle armed with a number of small cameras looking in various directions, some with the ability to pan around, others capable of zooming in, some even with fancy features like infrared. He was still wearing the outfit he'd been dressed in on that girl's doorstep, though he couldn't remember the last time he'd worn jeans _this_ tight- what was it with kids these days and tight jeans? And the holes? _Why buy clothes that already had holes in them?_ Ah, but that was not his concern.

No, his concern was finding another way to control the Asset. Threats and attempts to capture hadn't worked out, and the President didn't like the idea of a messy confrontation. No, no, she tended to be a more _measured_ individual; keeping it hushed up and clean was more her style. She saw where the previous administration had gone wrong; they'd never done proper reconnaissance.

After all, why resort to base threats and violence when there were so many other ways to twist a kid's nuts?

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

HOY!

 _Dee is a pansexual disaster pass it on._

 _For those who have been asking about my other works-_ It is true that I have another account here on Fanfiction where I've written for other fandoms, particularly Jak and Daxter as well as Skyrim. The Skyrim fics are a smaller [unfinished] project, but the Jak and Daxter story is a 1,000,000 word megaproject that is still, sadly, _unfinished and in the middle of a re-write._ It's been in that state, regrettably, for a couple years. The plan is that once I've reached a comfortable stopping point with these South Park stories, I'm going to take my newly discovered literary discipline and throw it at those old fics to finally finish them. At that time, I will happily share the username for those stories for those who want to follow and read the project in it's final form... but at the moment, I'm pretty embarrassed of their existence.

As always, I thank everyone for all the love and support I've gotten on these stories.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	8. Weaseling In

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Weaseling In::**

Bebe had continued her work in the family living room after everyone left- she already had everything right there, after all. Why move everything upstairs when the extra space meant she could lay multiple items out at a time, checking over the meticulous notes she'd made for the alterations with ease? She put her phone on the coffee table, turning some some music as she began to settle into the frame of mind best suited to the work ahead; fiddling with all the tiny details that would come together to really make the show _shine._

On the verge of seam ripping some of her stitching on a prototype jacket so that she'd be able to adjust the fit, a knock came at the front door.

Maybe it was just because of what happened the last time someone knocked on her door today, but it felt _ominous_.Was that Steve guy back? If it were him, she was torn between not answering the door to just call the police again and slamming it open to give that guy a piece of her mind for stalking Dee like such a creep. Either way, she'd have to get up to at least check the peephole and see who it was who was banging so _insistently_ on this Saturday afternoon.

The knock came again as she was half-way upright, _insistence_ starting to give way to a feeling more like _impatience._ All at once, Bebe lost her sense of dread, but it was replaced with _reluctance._ If there was a skill she had, it was getting a read on situations quickly, on intuiting little things to add up into a bigger picture... and the knocking that was at her door, now? That wasn't the Steve-creep. No, he'd been firm, but polite, and waited patiently. This knock had zero on the patience, and the politeness was a _farce_ that was melting away in a hurry. These thoughts led to a conclusion, and she couldn't even get to the door before her suspicions were confirmed.

" _Bebe? Bebe, I wanna be part of the show!"_

 _Eric Cartman._

It was with a sigh that she answered the door, aware that if she didn't he'd keep knocking for literally an hour, or he'd simply let himself in. She kept the opening limited; just wide enough for herself, placing her body directly in the doorway to prevent any sort of headway being made- she knew exactly how the _foot in the door_ gambit worked, and she wouldn't have it. She'd decide exactly when this conversation was over, and there was nothing _Eric Cartman_ could do about it.

"Bebe!" Cartman exclaimed upon the door being answered, despite the fact that she did not even say _hello._ "I heard you were looking for male models for your fashion show- I wanna join in!"

 _Of course you do._ "Everyone met up earlier. You're kinda late." She pointed out, remaining a human blockade.

"No one told me about it until this morning!" Cartman crowed, bouncing around the opening in the door as if he expected her to move at any second. He'd draw near in that way that fully intended to continue forward into the house, only for her to not give up any ground and fade back, shuffle from left to right, and then repeat. "Someone musta forgotten to invite me or something." He posited, taking on that oh-so- _patronizing_ voice that Bebe had noticed he used whenever he thought putting on a nice face would get him what he wanted. "No hard feelings, it happens, but... surely I shouldn't be _punished_ for someone else's mistake, right? Certainly not _excluded_ from what could be the beginning of my _destined career_ as a _beefy male model?"_

 _You delusional sack of shit, you are **flabby.** I don't know if the runway we're building will even hold you. _"You'd have to take that up with Dee, he's the one I asked to gather volunteers for me. Maybe he knew I didn't have anything in your size."

Cartman blinked. Dee's name appeared to be magic- but the bad kind. Cartman dropped nice act for a second, snapping _"That sack of shit!"_ Before getting it back together. "I-I mean, Dee's _shitty_ phone sometimes... ah... drops texts. I bet that's what happened. I _know_ he woulda invited me. There must be _something_ I can do in the show, Bebe..." He put his hands together, as if he might take a knee and _beg._

As much as she would have loved to see him humble himself like that, she didn't have time for this show of false gestures. "Cartman, I'm going to make this really simple; _I don't have anything for someone as big as you are._ I didn't _design_ for your body type- there's no place for you in the show. There wouldn't have been if you were here earlier, and there still isn't one now. _Go home,_ enjoy your weekend."

" _What?"_

He sounded genuinely confused. Jaw dropped wide as if the question he asked were a reflex produced by surprise, eyebrows popping up towards his hat. He'd stopped shuffling about the opening to the door as if he desperately needed a bathroom, physically taking a step back towards the edge of her stoop. Then, just as quickly as he was shocked, he became upset. Teeth gritted in an open snarl, and fists clenched and drew up even with his chest, presenting his outrage in both face and posture.

" _Seriously?_ You're... you're fucking _body policing me right now?!"_

"Huh?" Bebe recoiled slightly, her head drawing back as if he'd smacked her. _Body policing?_ Hell no- she'd made a point to include outfits for the curvy girls in their year just so everyone would be represented. She _specifically_ designed a powder blue dress for Nichole so there would be some racial diversity in there as well. Clyde was big enough that she could argue that she had a _heavy-ish_ guy in her show- but there was a line between _heavy_ and _fat,_ and Cartman was well beyond that line. "I'm not _policing_ anything, it's just a fact! I didn't design anything for someone your size!"

"Just because I'm _big boned_ and that might not be your _ideal man_ doesn't make it okay to just _ignore_ me, Bebe!" He hurled back at her. "Oh, that is so typical of a fashion designer- you only wanna make stuff for shapes you _like!_ Oh, so I'm not a fucking rail, so I'm just suppose to dress myself in a fucking _circus tent_ and not feel terrible about myself? This is a blow to my self-esteem, Bebe, and I'm going to let the whole school know about it-!"

 _Oh, damnit._

This was exactly the sort of thing she was afraid of. She'd been hoping that maybe Cartman wouldn't find out about the show until it was about to happen, so there'd be no time to lodge protest about the fact that _she'd not made a place for him in it..._ but that wasn't how it had worked out. Worse... she knew full well that if he went to the principal, it wouldn't be long until the show was canceled- or worse, he was _running it._ There was no stopping Cartman once he was on the moral outrage train.

"Okay, _okay!"_ She yelped, stopping his tirade. "I'll... I'll come up with _something."_

 _Just stay the fuck away from the school authorities. The PC Super gets wind of someone being_ _ **non-inclusive**_ _and my show will be dead._

A gasp, like one might expect from a stereotypical girl who'd just been given a beautiful present. " _Really?_ You _really_ mean it, Bebe? You want me in your show?"

 _That's not what I said, but whatever floats your boat your spoiled diva._ "Sure... come in, I'll get your measurements."

She hated it, her body might have even resisted the order from her brain to move out of the doorway... but ultimately, she still moved, and Cartman bustled into her home.

 _I'm gonna have to buy more fabric._

* * *

" _Goooooooood morning_ everybody!"

Dee held a certainty that her homeroom teacher was entirely too cheerful for a guy that was perpetually late.

Homeroom was the first 'class' of the day, where school announcements were read out, community events were discussed, and generally everyone bummed around for fifteen minutes until the actual school day began. Unlike other classes, homeroom didn't strictly contain students in the same grade level, as one's homeroom teacher remained the same throughout their entire time at the middle school. One's teacher also wasn't strictly one of the academic teachers; in Dee's case, her homeroom teacher was Mr. Beerman- a surprisingly skinny graying man in his fifties who was part of the gym teachers' club.

His cheerful energy was always the first thing to reach herself and the other students in her homeroom class, as the man himself was, without fail, two to three minutes late every morning. He'd arrive after the bell rang, unlock the extra classroom at the end of the hall that they used, all while personally greeting a smattering of students who happened to participate in school sports.

"Steffie, lookin' lively! How was the volleyball game? _Heeeey,_ it's Bradly, taking the wrestling team by storm. _Heidi!_ You sure you're not part _road-runner,_ I saw your times from track practice last night, little Ms. 50-yard-dash- _killing it!"_

Dee got the distinct sense of a grandfather who was trying desperately to practice connecting with the younger generation... but he did it in such a sincere way, she supposed she couldn't hate him for it. She'd just file in with the rest of the class as the teacher held the door, pack slung over her back as it always was. Besides, since she wasn't _in_ any sports, she was never mentioned, which was how she preferred it.

Particularly right now. She had enough on her plate without trying to keep up appearances with a teacher who good just a touch too invested in middle school sports.

" _Boomer-Boemer,_ you need coffee? You're asleep on your feet. _Tackle_ the day, Boemer. C'mon, ah- there's some pep from Red- how's the cheer squad doing? Come in, come in, sit down and win, _ha-ha!"_

 _Too much energy._ Dee kept her head the way it had been most of her morning; downcast with her hair creating an unruly curtain between herself and the rest of the world. She may have _dozed off_ through the bus stop banter that morning, aware that Cartman had gotten into Bebe's show, but not remembering much else beyond that... but she felt she'd earned something of a morning nap, what with how late her nights had gotten over the weekend. She had so much stuff to _prepare_ before Halloween arrived if she wanted things to go well.

Considering that the US government was going to try to kill her if she failed, _yes, yes, she wanted things to go well._

She heard the door close, and Mr. Beerman launched right into announcements.

" _Okay_ everyone, last week of school before Halloween! Who's excited? The school will be holding a few events if you haven't already decided what to do with yourselves, including a _spooooky_ maze and a hayride, provided by the local farmers. There's a ticket price of five dollars, which will be going to local shelters to help the needy through the winter- bring a canned food item for the food bank and get a dollar off!"

 _Maybe the local programs would get more donations if they attached themselves to more interesting events. Just a thought._

"What else, what else, what else- _oh!_ We've got a new student!"

 _Eh?_

Dee's head picked up a touch, blinking blearily up at Mr. Beerman where he was standing behind the desk at the front of the room. She, like her classmates, were arranged in the student desks around the room as the placed, homeroom lacking any sort of seating arrangement. Dee's place of choice was usually near the middle, but today she'd selected the back corner nearest to the door for her sleepy self, having not even _looked_ directly at her teacher until this moment on this particular morning... and when she looked, she saw him flanked by none other than Steve- the fucking _midget_ pretending to be a kid.

 _Oh. You're here. Of course you're here. Government couldn't be subtle enough to put you in a different class._

At least he'd shaved the stubble- it made him look a little less like a bad actor who forgot his stage make-up, at the very least. He was dressed just like yesterday, with the yellow shirt and the distressed jeans, with the addition of some _Clark Kent_ style glasses that made him look like the classic _fat nerd who practically lives on cheetoes_ sort. He had his hands in the pockets of his zip-up hoodie, offering what appeared to be a nervous smile to the kids in the class with a little timid, "Hello, everyone." Tacked on for good measure.

"This here is Steven Cordial; he and his family just moved in from another part of Colorado, so he's already rooting for the right football team." Mr. Beerman introduced, laughing at his own little joke. "He's still finding his way around, so make sure to help him out, okay everyone?"

" _Yes, Mr. Beerman."_ The concert of fifteen kids all answering in the affirmative at the same time, because it was expected of them and they all knew that Mr. Beerman would keep prompting until he got such an answer. Dee let her head sag back down to her chest.

When 'Steve' had showed up at Bebe's house on Saturday, Dee had been a touch freaked out. She hadn't expected someone to show up so _soon,_ and the idea of having someone around as a sort of _undercover monitor_ was galling... but the idea of this guy had lost all of it's bite as she'd been working pretty much through Sunday night with Wendy and Kenny, planning for a number of possible events and setting up counter-maneuvers. She was still _wary_ of Steve, but he no longer engendered _fear_ in her mind.

She was ready for him, no matter what kind of fresh hell he had to pull.

"Go take a seat, Steve. Anywhere is fine."

Whispering picked up as Steve made his way into the desks, and Dee could hear it as he took a seat right next to her. Expected, she supposed. Then, as Mr. Beerman got on with the announcements for upcoming sports games, she felt a _tap_ on her shoulder.

Her head cocked slightly, enough red curls shifting out of her face for a green eye to peer over at what was clearly a man on the wrong side of forty _pretending_ to be a teenager. It was even more obvious close up; the fine lines, the faint touch of silver in his dark hair, the lack of roundness in his face... and yet, her classmates all appeared to be perfectly fooled, accepting the man as a boy who belonged among their ranks- though, she'd note that all the _girls_ in the class were giving Steve the stink-eye.

"Hey, um, could you tell me where to go for my first class? I wasn't able to get in early to see where everything is."

A simple, innocuous request; something a new kid would have asked. As he did, he held out a recently unfolded piece of paper, his class schedule, for Dee to see... and despite his lack of _physical_ fitness for the role, he wasn't a bad actor, his tone of voice and expression fitting well enough to appear genuine.

For now, Dee decided not to show her suspicious hand, eyebrows rising as she looked down at the offered paper.

 _Mermaids titfucking a narwhal's horn, are you fucking kidding me?_

They had _all_ the same classes. First hour science, second hour English, forth hour social studies, fifth hour math. Shit, they even had the same damn gym teacher for gym class.

She looked back up at him, staring with that single peering eye, her brow having come down to form a half-hidden incredulous glare. _So, the government spy academy... do they just_ _ **skip**_ _subtly or what? Or is this your attempt at a power-play? Do you already_ _ **know**_ _that I know, and you're trying to freak me out while playing innocent over there?_

As she stared at him, he became unsure. "Uh... could you tell me where the science room is?" He asked again. She could _feel_ the awkwardness sinking in, that the longer she looked at him, the weirder he felt. She didn't break eye contact. She didn't even blink.

"Dude." One of the older boys in the class leaned in from a desk over, whispering to Steve. Boemer was his name, the one Mr. Beerman liked to call _Boomer._ "That's Dee, he don't talk."

"Oh." Steve blinked. If this little staring contest were some sort of match of wills, Dee had won this round. "Uh..." A glance, away, towards, away, towards; his heads shifting back and forth as if his mode of operation had been completely compromised by the simple revelation that _Dee didn't and wasn't going to speak to him, period._ "Is... is he, um... _mute?"_ He asked, looking up towards Boemer.

"Heck if I know." Boemer shrugged. "Lemme see your paper, I'll tell ya where to go."

It wasn't what Steve wanted, glancing back to Dee again before finally accepting that he'd not be able to go about things as he expected.

Dee, somewhat satisfied, let her head drop down once more to catch another five minutes of dozing before classes began.

 _I win this round, asshat._

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

 _HOLY HELLO MY FRIENDS, THAT TOOK LONGER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE_

That's always the trouble with writing I suppose; beginnings and endings are the fun parts, but ya need all the middle stuff to make it work and set it up.

I just wanna let everyone know that we're heading back into high-stress times as hubby gets ready for an underway under not quite ideal conditions. I'm gonna do my best to keep things together here, but... y'know. Gotta take care of myself and shit.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	9. Back to School

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Back To School::**

 _No wonder we don't have any information on this kid- he doesn't fucking **talk.**_

Originally, Agent Russel had assumed no one had gotten a handle on this particular Asset due to incompetence. It wasn't helpful to think of his fellow agents like that, but it didn't change the fact that the track record was... _horrific._ A grand total of thirty six agents had been assigned to this case in the past three years, when they gained intelligence that the Asset had relocated to this region, not including himself; and of those thirty six? _Thirty_ had been hospitalized in some manner, four had been killed by apparent friendly fire, and two had managed to make it back to base... and _all_ had been accused by the local media of carrying incriminating documents that evidenced unethical government operations against the town of South Park. When given the previous information on this situation as homework, a packet that was secure within his van at the moment, the _vast_ majority of documentation was the criminal indictments against his comrades for utterly ridiculous charges. _Attempt to defame the mayor, attempt to extort the entire business district, unlawful seizure of weapons, unlawful seizure of children, unlawful seizure of office supplies-_ the list went on, and those indictments included the documents used as evidence.

If he were to assume, as his cohorts did, that this kid did all of this alone, it would require him to accept that the Asset was physically capable enough to protect himself, smart enough to put together passable forgeries, strategic enough to set traps, influential enough with local police to gain their trust and benefit of the doubt in every case, vigilant enough to notice whenever a team of agents had arrived in town, and technologically savvy enough to sabotage operations and level the playing field.

In the desk next to him, this 'Dee' kid sat in a slouched over position, a faint _snore_ coming from the pile of red curls that hid his face from view; the very picture of an exhausted student who really could not give a shit.

 _Somehow... I really doubt he's **that** good. _

Working _alone_ didn't make sense. The kid had to have had help. The results were consistent; like he was part of a regular _team_ that backed him up. At least two other people. Adults? Other kids? The idea of mere _children_ making so much trouble made him scoff in the back of his head... but it wouldn't be the _first_ time a group of children of South Park caused serious problems for a government agency.

The bell rang for the end of homeroom, and Agent Russel watched as Dee jerked upwards before getting to his feet and slinging up the pack that had been hanging on the back of his chair, proceeding to the door as if sleep walking. His head didn't rise up, but the other kids didn't encroach on him; one girl even waited for Dee to clear the door before following out. Reading signals from the other kids, it told him that the _physically able_ part was probably true for Dee's capabilities. Maybe even prone to violence, if other kids knew not to get in his space and possibly startle him? Or maybe his classmates liked him enough not to shove him about. Both ideas were possible; he needed to gain more information.

He got up from the desk, approaching the door and choosing to engage with a girl with light brown hair and a green T-shirt which had a big pink flower on the chest as kids began to file through the bottleneck that led out into the hall. Pushing up the [fake] glasses he was wearing with one hand, he kept up the awkward nerd act with a shuffle of his feet and a nervous cough before managing himself in a weak "Uh... hi?"

The girl he'd approached glanced over her shoulder. She wasn't particularly tall, but she was still taller than him. "Save it, _stalker."_

 _Stalker?_

" _E-excuse me?"_ He asked as a legitimate reflex, eyebrows flying up as his voice dropped a little more than he wanted it to.

"All the girls already know what kind of _creep_ you are, Steven." The girl informed him curtly without looking at him. " _Piss off,_ dude _,_ and leave Dee alone."

 _What the ever living fuck was this about?_ He didn't get a chance to ask, as the girl slipped forward in the lineup and escaped into the hall to pointedly end the conversation. Did Dee already suspect who he was?

 _Had someone tipped the kid off that something was going to be done to him if he didn't preform?_

He swore softly under his breath; there was that _resourcefulness_ that had impeded every other team that had attempted this case. He'd been picked out at once, and some kind of toxic rumor had already been spread that was going to make getting information harder. But this also told _him_ something; someone was leaking information to the Asset and helping him be better prepared... which meant at least _one_ person who was helping him had access to such privileged information.

 _The contact- what was her name? **Kartwright,** I think._

* * *

[ Subject ] no subject  
From: "Assmaster9001"  
To: "DocKartwright"

New 'kid' has transferred into the school. I think it's an adult with dwarfism? He's calling himself Steve. He has information on where I used to live, claimed to be an old friend of mine, but I sure as hell don't know him. I think he's an agent. Any advice on how dangerous this guy is? He's going by the name Steve

[insert witty signature here]

[ Subject ] Re: no subject  
From: "DocKartwright"  
To: "Assmaster9001"

I've been on a short leash, so digging hasn't been easy. It sounds like I'm stuck here until they know whether or not you're going to cooperate, but I know they don't like this set-up; the fact that I get to talk to you, I make contact, and they don't. If you start getting e-mails from a stranger, let me know.

What's the news on a plan?

-Dr. Haley Kartwright, PhD

[ Subject ] Re:Re: no subject  
From: "Assmaster9001"  
To: "DocKartwright"

I've got things handled on my side. You won't like it. I'm doing this my way. Tell the President to keep an eye on her Twitter.

[insert witty signature here]

[ Subject ] Re:Re:Re: no subject  
From: "DocKartwright"  
To: "Assmaster9001"

Are you sure you want to go this way about it? It's an easy job. Doing it wouldn't make you 100% safe, but it would be a gesture of good will, at the least. It's galling and stupid and a whole lot of other stuff, but... is your pride really worth the safety of your friends and family?

-Dr. Haley Kartwright, PhD

[ Subject ] Re:Re:Re:Re: no subject  
From: "Assmaster9001"  
To: "DocKartwright"

This isn't about pride. This is about the dynamics of the relationship. If I let them bully me, it signals that they can push and push and push until eventually they get everything they want and my life belongs to them. I need to draw a line, NOW, and make it clear that they can't cross it. I can't give them an inch, or it _will_ be the end of everything... a slow one that takes years to grind its way through my freedoms and rights. I won't fucking have it.

Like I said, I've got things going on this side. We've got a plan. That said, you might want to get the hell out of the office on Halloween. Pick a direction and run.

[insert witty signature here]

[ Subject ] Re:Re:Re:Re:Re: no subject  
From: "DocKartwright"  
To: "Assmaster9001"

Nah, if you're gonna stick it out, there's no way I'm scattering with my tail between my legs.

I hope this works for you, kid. For both our sakes.

-Dr. Haley Kartwright, PhD

* * *

Dee had once again disappeared to the boys bathroom to escape her first hour and the fact that Steven had very quickly gotten himself tacked onto her table as a third member while the teacher, Ace, figured out a new seating arrangement that would fit him in better. She didn't even wait to see if he and Cartman got along at all; she walked out to the restroom and locked herself into a stall just to get away... and, with nothing better to do, sent off some e-mails.

Kartwright seemed to accept that she was doing this, whether the good doctor liked it or not. Dee knew the whole plan was a huge risk- there was a decent chance it wouldn't work out the way she wanted _at all..._ but that wasn't the point of this gamble. The point was that if she _won,_ if things _did_ go the way she figured they would, she and her family would never have to fear getting captured and taken away ever again.

Or, at least, not until the next election- but she had a few ideas for _that,_ too.

Exhausted eyes blinked closed as they burned from looking at the screen of her phone. There was a serious temptation to just lean against the wall of the stall and catch a few precious moments of sleep, but she knew that Ace was one of those teachers who wouldn't hesitate to send someone after Dee if she didn't return to class soon. _Probably_ Butters, and as much as she liked him, she really didn't want him _involved_ with this mess. Particularly with Steve about; the likelihood of him being an agent was high, and if he was smart he'd be taking note of all of her friends; making a mental list of who might be vulnerable.

Butters wasn't _helpless,_ but he did tend to be _impressionable._

With a sigh, Dee forced herself back upright, left the bathroom stall behind, and returned to the science classroom. It appeared she'd missed the lecture entirely, the class already into work time with books and notebooks out. Kids near the back glanced over as the door opened, and looked away again as it was confirmed it was just Dee coming back in. Ace looked up, too, from her desk at the front of the room. Big, round eyes had narrowed, giving Dee a _look_ that reminded her that she really should wait until after lecture... but she didn't say anything or make any motion that indicated Dee was in trouble, so she shrugged and continued onwards to her seat.

At her table, Steve had settled in next to Cartman. Neither had noticed she was back just yet.

"Wow, so this Kyle guy is just... _evil,_ huh?"

" _He is!_ And he's such a fucking _cheater,_ too! I only still play games with him because I feel so _sorry_ for him, y'know? _Someone's_ gotta cut a jew a little slack, no else one is gonna."

"So... why'd Dee start working for _him,_ then, if you were such a benevolent magician?"

" _Ey! I was the Grand Wizard King! Get it right!"_

 _Oh fuck, they're talking about those fucking games we played as kids._ Dee found herself using her hair as a handy shield, noisily yanking her chair out to gain attention as she sat back down at the table and peered at Cartman's open textbook to see what page she needed to be on. It appeared her backpack had been left alone while she was gone; something she checked on habit after an incident with a frog in fifth grade.

"Oh, hey, welcome back _Sir Douchebag."_ Steve sneered. "Cartman was just telling me how you guys met- how he was basically your first friend in town and all that."

 _Not sure if **friend** is the word I would use. I got pulled into the game pretty fucking fast, that's true, but I ran the hell away from Kupa Keep as soon as I had the option to do so. _Dee didn't look up, keeping her corrections inside her head as she shuffled pages and arrived at the chapter of the earth science book devoted to the different kinds of volcanoes and their properties- Cartman didn't have a worksheet so she had to assume today was a reading assignment. She'd check in with Kenny after school, make sure there weren't any vocab terms she needed that Eric was just ignoring like always.

"... has he always been like this?" Steve questioned Cartman.

"Dude, what's with all these questions? Do you like, got a boner for Douchebag or what? Put it away, I've got better shit to talk about than the fucking stick of truth. Like fuckin' Halloween; I've got this sweet gig I'm setting up where I'm gonna take a bunch of neighborhood kids trick or treating so I can skim candy, _and_ get paid by their stupid fucking parents to look after them for a night. It's gonna be _so sweet-_ I've already got five kids lined up at thirty bucks a head."

"Do the moms... _know_ you're taking a big group of kids? Aren't they concerned you might not be able to watch them all at one time?"

" _Dumbass,_ I don't _tell_ them that!" Cartman crowed at the suggestion, making Dee wish her poofy hair muffled more sound. She was too tired for this shit. "Whateva, if some mom gets whiney about it I'll just get some stupid girls to help- they'll volunteer for that shit if they've got nothing better to do on Halloween."

 _Sounds like someone didn't think shit through. Again._ There was some inward satisfaction as Dee slipped her phone out of her pocket under the table, shooting a covert text off to Wendy that she could help ensure the safety of some youngsters on Halloween if she didn't mind a little _whistle-blower_ work.

"I've been hearing something about a _show_ on Halloween; sounds like most of the girls are busy with that." Steve pointed out, seeming _resigned_ to talking about what Cartman wanted to talk about.

"Nah, dude, that's Bebe's fashion show- and thanks to _this_ asshole, I almost didn't get to be in it." Cartman's attention turned. "What the fuck was the deal with that, Douchebag? You just _casually_ forget to message me or what? Didn't want me soaking up all the attention from your fuckin' _boyfriend?"_

Adrenaline was a hot sensation, like electricity at the base of her skull. The jolt made her organs jump, heart flying into her throat as her head jerked and red curls cleared out of the way for her to stare through the mess at Cartman. _WHEN DID YOU FIGURE IT OUT?_

In response to her silent freak-out, Cartman began laughing uproarously. " _Oh my god, Douchebag, Douchebag! That look is fuckin'_ _ **priceless!**_ _Jesus tapdancing Christ, calm down, it's not like anyone caught you sucking Butters's dick in the hall!"_

Once, twice, three times; she blinked slowly before it dawned on her; Cartman was ribbing her after Butters asked her out, quite publicly, in this class. She told him no, but that didn't change the fact that pretty much the whole school knew that he asked. Plenty of rumors were still swirling around that they were _involved_ in some way, seeing as they'd come to the school Homecoming dance together as friends with the addition of Kenny to their carpool group.

No one was aware that it was really Dee and Kenny who were together, and it was the addition of Butters who allowed them to go to the dance together as a secret couple. No one but Butters, that was... and now Wendy.

 _Shit, it's probably only a matter of time before Stan finds out, then._

"You're _gay?"_ Steven demanded, appearing less entertained but more intrigued.

"For seriously?" Cartman's head jerked back over, finding Steven's sudden interest in any morsel of personal information disconcerting. "Dude, _I said put it away."_

Dee picked up her textbook, putting it up on the table as a physical blockade to remove herself from the conversation.

Halloween suddenly seemed a long-ass way away if she was going to have to put up with this fucker every step of the way.

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

Hello my friends! There's just a little bit more build-up before the main event can begin... and if things go the way _I've_ planned them, it should be a dozy. XD

Just a general heads up, we may see some slow-down in the future due to life being... well, life. It's unsafe to get into details, but hubby is going to be deployed again, and this time he may be as gone for as long as a year. This will be the longest we've ever been apart since we were married, which is... _scary,_ to say the least. More so, I still haven't really made any friends on the island, so I'll be pretty isolated. I'm going to do my best to get out there, meet some people, hopefully find some supportive peeps to hang out with, but the time between here and there is going to be hardcore stressful and may impede the writing a bit.

I'm going to do my best to keep on it, though! For all my dear readers who have been so fantastic over the course of this project!

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	10. Playacting

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Playacting::**

"Hey, uh... it's kinda full everywhere else- can I sit with you?"

Rumors about the new kid had been zinging around all day- that he used to go to the same school as Dee back in the day, that he had moved here just to see him again, that he had a crush on Dee, that he was actively _stalking_ Dee, that he was actually a much older kid who had been held back multiple times and had some sort of growth disorder- _any_ new kid was liable to have a number of rumors going around on the first day, but Butters could attest that this was somewhat more than the norm. Usually it was just _one_ really bad rumor that gained too much traction in the first week or so, and how any new kid dealt with that rumor sorta helped them find their niche for the rest of the year... assuming they stayed.

A lot of new kids _didn't._

That said, he didn't _want_ Steve to sit next to him. Both Dee and Kenny had texted him, warning Butters that Steve was bad news and the stay away from him if possible. If the rumors hadn't painted him in a bad enough light, texts from two of his close buddies was a fast way for him to decide which side he was on.

"Uh, well, I'd _prefer_ if you didn-"

" _Thanks."_

The new boy's tone suddenly changed, going from the nervous diction of a fish out of water to that of an entirely certain adult who had already decided the answer before he'd asked the question. He plopped down, his girth effectively blocking the seat from the view of other kids on the bus, and the shifting of his backpack to his lap made that block even more effective. All of the sudden, Butters felt rather... _walled in._

He didn't like this.

"H-Hey there, feller, I said _no,_ I would really-"

Steve's head quickly turned inwards to _glare_ at him. Butters could suddenly why kids thought this guy was older than them; he got the same authoritative look his _dad_ tended to get when he was sore. The sort that made it hard to continue speaking, his tongue feeling as if it briefly twisted itself into a knot.

"I-I mean... uh..."

 _C'mon, buddy, stand up for yourself. He's invading your space!_

"I _really_ would rather you... uh... sat somewhere else." He mumbled, looking down and shrinking back against the window.

"And why's that?" He asked, as if genuinely surprised, but his eyebrows didn't rise up. No, that glare remained, laser-locked, bearing down upon Butters as he sat like a lump between him and the rest of the bus. The idling engine got louder as wheels began to roll, and the scene of South Park in autumn began to scroll by the windows. "You don't know anything about me."

"W-well, that's not _entirely_ true, I don't think. See, my buddies don't think you're that great, an' I trust 'em, so... uh..." _So buzz off_ is what he wanted to say, but the bus was already in motion. He wouldn't make another kid break the rules just because he was uncomfortable. "I don't think I should talk to you." He finally surmised, squishing himself more against the wall and turning his gaze outside.

"So... you're _prejudging_ a new kid based on what your friends say? Isn't that kinda... cruel to me? Not giving _me_ a chance?"

 _I guess so, but you give me the willies._

"M-Maybe." He admitted, disliking the feeling that took hold. He always tried to do the _right_ thing with the information he had... but everything _was_ second hand. Wasn't there something about not just going along with stuff because all of his friends believed something? Oh, wait, that was for drugs and peer pressure. "But I figure if _all_ my buddies think you're a no-good-nick, they must think that for a reason. Heidi said that Bebe said that Kenny that said you're _stalking_ Dee, that you have been since you were little kids, and that you got your family to move here just to be close to him, and that's just... just... _creepy!_ And I don't wanna talk to creepy kids!"

Steve didn't respond right away. Butters looked back to him to find some genuine surprise on his face, blinking a few times as he murmured. "Well, _that_ explains why no one would talk to me today... Stalking, huh? That's a pretty serious charge..."

He wasn't _denying_ it, which made Butters more nervous than he already was.

"W-well?" He pressed.

"Well _what?"_ Steve questioned.

"Is it _true?_ Were you... _are_ you stalking Dee? Eric said you wouldn't stop askin' him questions about Dee, and you were creepin' around their lunch table, and-"

" _Okay, okay,_ you got me, kid!" Steve suddenly exclaimed. His tone had changed gears, suddenly; the authority flowed out of it to _expose_ something. "I... I just... _really miss him,_ that's all. He's a good guy. We used to be _really_ close friends, and then his family moved without a word."

Did he sound... _hurt?_ Butters peered closer at this girthy new kid, at his face as it twisted it apparent regret and anguish.

"I donno if that counts as _stalking,_ I'm just... really worried about him. I wanted to know he was still doing okay. Maybe that's stupid, but... I'm here 'cause I care."

"But he's _scared_ of you." Butters pointed out, unwilling to move past a certain point. Sympathy brought him a few inches away from the window, but it didn't change the fact that Butters had been at Bebe's house, and he'd seen Dee choose to hide from this guy rather than confront him. That wasn't the way Dee usually _did_ things. "Even if you miss him a whole, whole lot, it don't matter none if he don't wanna see _you,_ now does it? You've just gotta respect his boundaries, and that means you can't be houndin' all his friends or followin' him places. That's just not nice, see?"

Steve listened, thoughtfully nodding as Butters spoke, though he still appeared quite upset. It was a hard truth whenever somebody cared _that_ much about somebody else, particularly when that somebody else didn't wanna see 'em.

"... I guess moving just to be closer to him was kinda... _out there,_ wasn't it?" Steve admitted before bemoaning his plight. "But I didn't know I chased him away before! He didn't _tell_ me!"

"Ah, well, Dee's all secretive like that."

"Jeez, I feel _terrible_ now." Steve marveled, leaning back in the bus seat and gazing up towards the roof of the vehicle. "I feel like I need to apologize to him... but he doesn't want to _see_ me. Maybe... maybe I could write him a letter?"

"Hey, now, that's a great idea!" Butters encouraged, feeling as if he were being helpful to both parties. Dee would get his stalker problem solved, and this guy would be able to settle things a bit in his own mind. "Get some closure for it all."

"Augh, but I have no idea what to say..." Steve muttered, lips pressing together before looking over to Butters again. "... you know Dee, right? Maybe you could... help me word it right? Maybe even deliver the letter when its done?"

"M-Me?" Butters quested. It was one thing to give a supposed stalker an idea, but to help him make contact? "Well... I suppose, but you gotta promise that once it's done, you're never gonna bother Dee again. I'm not gonna help you get close to him when he doesn't want that, you got that?"

" _Of course!"_ Steve agreed heartily. "This is about _closure,_ I'm not trying to start something, _I'm trying to end it."_

Steve smiled. Butters smiled back on habit, but... there was still a vibe he was getting that made it somewhat difficult to do so genuinely.

 _How bad can it be? I'm just trying to help._

* * *

Kenny had a _bad_ feeling about this.

He'd gotten a text from Butters asking to meet up near the children's park, on the basketball court. It was after dark, a few street laps having kicked on and another one on the corner flickering in and out of life every few minutes. This didn't seem like the kind of place Butters would ask to meet, and the text hadn't seemed like one Butters would send. It had been too short, too straight to the point; Butters tended to _explain_ his invitations, what he wanted to do, why he was asking at this specific time and not earlier. Kenny's first assumption was that Butters was dipping into the Professor Chaos persona again, playing some kind of prank... in such event, Kenny currently had his backpack with him with the Mysterion costume inside. The public restrooms just off the court would be a fine place to change if necessary.

The _suspicion_ , once he arrived and no one was apparently there, was that Butters was in trouble. It crept up his spine, one vertebra at a time, on the spindly legs of a spider that made his skin prickle and dance, turning in slow circles as he began to scan the area around him. One hand holding onto the strap of his backpack, the other reached into his pocket for his phone. Shoulders tensed as he felt he was being _watched,_ rather intensely so. He could not see them, but he was certain there were _eyes_ on him.

Text someone? He was pretty fast, but what if he got interrupted? It wouldn't send. Was he being paranoid? _Doesn't matter. Paranoid is good sometimes. Better to send a false alarm than suffer needlessly._ _Call someone,_ he decided. At least if someone burst from the shadows and whacked him in the back of the head, a connection would still go _somewhere,_ even if that somewhere was a voicemail box.

Wendy was on his speed-dial.

The line rang once, twice, - _click-_

" _Hey Kenny, what's up?"_

The spiders danced upon the back of his neck, hairs standing up on end- but hearing Wendy's voice brought a warm flood of relief over his head. Tugging down his muffler a little, he responded. "I got a text from Butters to meet him at the playground, but he didn't show... have you heard anything?"

" _Butters?"_ Wendy's voice tightened. _"His parents were just here; Butters didn't come home for dinner, and they're getting the search party together. Text him back, ask him where he is!"_

"... I'm not sure it was _him_ who sent it." He answered, lowering his voice. The creeping feeling he'd been getting had just been confirmed. "Tell Dee, gotta go."

" _Kenny, wait-"_

 _No time, sorry._

Kenny _bolted_ for the public restrooms as he clicked the connection off. He'd heard it, just as Wendy was telling him about the fact that Butters was _missing-_ movement off to one side, just inside the fence. He didn't hesitate, or stop to look who it was who might be lurking in the dark, but rather bounded away for the nearest building that would offer a moment's cover for some kind of misdirection.

Once he broke line-of-sight, it was time for a wardrobe change.

* * *

Wendy felt as if she were in shock. She'd been kept in the loop about recent developments; the fact that 'Steve' was likely an agent from the government, sent to try and ensure that Dee did as she was told... but this kind of _escalation?_ There were still a few more days before the end of the month! Apparently it wasn't good enough just to _watch_ Dee until the deadline, this guy was out to be an over-achiever and force capitulation. Butters was missing, it sounded like Kenny had just found some trouble... which meant that government asshole had been paying attention to who Dee's friends were.

 _I haven't been hanging out with Dee since that guy arrived- unless someone said something, I'm probably not on that list. But Stan and Kyle are- I need to warn them that they might be in danger._

Several texts were sent out in quick succession; first to Dee to apprise her of the situation, and then to Stan and Kyle to let them know that some shit was going down, and not to respond to any odd texts asking them to leave their homes and meet anyone anywhere. Just as she finished sending those off, she got a response from Dee.

[Received, 6:21] Shit

[Received, 6:21] On my way to Kenny's last known location, any chance you can figure out where Butters is?

 _That_ was a question; Butters probably didn't have any hardcore security on his phone, but it would all depend if he'd ever used any location services on the device on whether or not Wendy could find out where the hell it was... and even if she found out where his _phone_ was, there was no guarantee the boy was with it.

[Sent, 6:22] I'm on it, but no promises.

[Sent, 6:23] I'll open our usual communication channel in a minute, bring your headset. Will add Kenny once we've made contact.

It felt like an emergency deployment of the team, and it left Wendy so excited she couldn't remain seated in her computer chair. No, she had to get up, pacing the space between her bed and her window in her room as she anxiously thumbed through other texts she'd gotten back. Kyle and Stan both confirmed that they were okay, at home, and wouldn't leave- though they both wanted to know what the hell was going on. Kyle had even put it together enough to ask if this was about Butters going missing. Her responses remained vague for now, confirming that yes, this had something to do with Butters, but giving nothing more than a reminder to stay safe. She'd tell them more when she knew more.

 _Mission control. I've got this._ She told herself. That was her job when she worked with Mysterion and Buttlord, carrying the mental of Call Girl far longer than she'd ever expected to hold onto it. She even still had a costume, though it had been a long while since she'd had to suit up herself and join her friends in the field. Tonight was shaping up to be like most of their jobs in the way that she wouldn't have to leave her room, providing communications and information support.

 _That old thing is probably out of style. I wonder if I could get Bebe to design something new without tipping her off that I'm still playing hero after all these years...?_

The _abnormal_ thing about all of this was how rushed it was- _panic_ was a hard thing to contend with, breeding so much raw energy that Wendy found it difficult to hold still. Operations involving government agents were carefully planned traps that Dee and Kenny set after a week or more of preparation. This time, the trouble had come to _them,_ pulled the trigger and begot whatever it was to come. It was a different feeling, one rooted far more in fear than it was in confidence.

 _I've got this,_ Wendy told herself again as she got another response from Dee.

[Received, 6:25] Headset on, ready when you are

It was as if steady hands had suddenly gripped her by the shoulders, and Wendy found herself stilling. Preamble gave way to action, and she drew in a deep breath that stretched her lungs before driving it out. The jitters went with it, and she returned to her computer desk with a sense of, if not _calm..._ dutiful certainty. She had a job to do. It was one of the hardest ones on the team; to resist the urge to run out into the streets, resist the frightened parts of her brain that demanded primal action... and instead use her skills to much greater capacity by way of her computer.

In a desk drawer was her own Bluetooth earpiece, which his slipped on before opening the connection.

"Let's do this."

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

HERE WE GO!

After a great deal of preparation, we finally get to start in on some scenes that have been occupying my brain basically since I got started on this installment of the story.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	11. Harmful Ego Stroking

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Harmful Ego Stroking::**

Agent Russel strode at his own leisurely pace onto the blacktop of the basketball court, watching the boy dressed in orange disappear into the public restrooms near by. He'd already secured that area, ensuring there was only one way out or in of any gendered bathroom, which meant this _Kenny_ kid had effectively put himself in a corner. What was the rush? He could take his time, whistle a little tune, and once again wonder why the _hell_ any teenager would choose to be pre-distressed jeans whilst the cold mountain wind whistled through threadbare holes. Seriously, _fuck this disguise._

Tonight was going well, if he did say so himself. He really did have _no_ intent on staying in this little shit-hole town until Halloween; not when he was certain he could speed up the time table and get what his boss wanted all the sooner.

Arriving at the door to the bathroom building, Agent Russel shifted his weight to draw a loaded pistol out from beneath his jacket, and side-stepped inside with the barrel leading his gaze.

The public restroom was _dark,_ pitch dark, gaining only a faint beam of yellow light from the street lamps outside. That light fell upon a poorly kept washroom, with cracked tile around the mirror and a rusted metal stall, currently closed. He didn't _see_ anyone, but that wasn't surprising. If that kid knew what was good for him, he'd probably tried to tuck himself up inside the stall, or dashed for the utility closet in the back. Classic kid-places to hide, which assumed an adult would take a glance and move on if they didn't see a sign of life.

He was better than most, however; Agent Russel couldn't even hear him _breathing._

He began to whistle again, the tune of the sing-song _come out, come out, wherever you are_ that children might call out during a game of hide-and-seek. His free hand went into the pocket of his hooded sweater, pulling out a small flashlight and twisting it on for the bright blue LED to sweep over the interior of the bathroom in line with his gun, bracing one gripping hand atop the other. Stepping inside, the door _creaked_ shut behind him, hitting the frame with a distinct _thud,_ and all was still once more.

" _ **You really chose the wrong town to fuck with."**_

A rough voice- behind him? _No,_ there'd been no space behind the door- _above?_ Agent Russel was half-turned- and then he was spun about by an abrupt impact. It took him a moment to access where and how he'd been hit- _kicked,_ right in the lower back, on the right side to force him about and send him stumbling further into the bathroom. More than that, he'd suffered another hit against his wrists; jarring, forcing his hands to open and both flashlight and gun to clatter to the floor. The flashlight bounced and rolled away, sending a wild beam this way and that way before it settled uselessly facing the corner. The gun was lost to inky darkness, leaving Agent Russel to carefully back up as he flexed his fingers and regained his balance.

 _Someone_ was there- someone had _hit him,_ expertly, without hesitation, _without fear._ "Kenny?"

The presence in the dark let out a chuckle that could be best described as _pitying._ "That kid is _long_ gone, asshole."

 _How? He'd blocked the window and broken the ladder in the utility closet; there was **nowhere** to go. "_Then who the _fuck_ are you?" He quested, backing up a step as he _felt_ more than saw that he was being closed in on. It was the distinct sense of being _stalked,_ of not being able to see what was looking at him but knowing for a fact that he was being _watched._ Was this guy Kenny, pulling the mother of all bluffs? Then why not just make a break for it, and run out the door?

" _Your worst nightmare."_

Another strike came from the dark, catching Agent Russel viciously under the jaw. Teeth clicked together, and his body went off to one side to hit against the decaying toilet stall, the metal shrilly squeaking between his weight and the fasteners that held it against both floors and walls. The hit rang his bells; leaving him to push back and away from the stall and continue retreating deeper into the small public bathroom- he knew full well he was running out of space.

Good thing he always carried a back-up weapon.

"That's cute." Agent Russel spat, tasting blood. He must have bitten into his own cheek when he got hit. "Who are you, _Batman?"_ He asked as he once again reached into his hoodie, grasping what he often termed as Plan B and waiting for an answer- an answer that would tell him where his target was in the dark.

"They call me _Mysterion."_

* * *

"Eric, sweetie? One of your little friends is at the door for you."

Cartman had been surfing the web when his mother poked her head into his room after a polite knock, gently letting him know that he had a caller on the front steps. It surprised him, mildly, seeing as his friends usually had the manners to _text_ first... then again, in the case of emergencies, there wasn't always _time._ " _Eh?_ Well tell 'em to come back _later,_ I'm busy." He dismissed, clearly preoccupied with an adorable cat-video of epic proportions; _damn_ he needed to monetize Mister Kitty like this- that cat was an untapped _gold mine_ if YouTube was any example. "This research isn't gonna do itself, y'know"

"I know, schnookums, but he's _very insistent_ you come down right away. He says you're the only one who can help him right now."

" _Who da fuck-"_ Cartman's head turned a little bit. "Who is it?" He demanded. The guys didn't say stuff like that, not unless he was dreaming... or at gunpoint, but that was neither here nor there.

"He said he's the new boy in town- Steven, I think?"

" _Jesus tap-dancing Christ,_ who told the new kid where I lived?" Cartman hefted himself up, _mildly curious_ at this point. It wouldn't hurt to have the new guy owe him a favor, and if he had it in his head that Cartman was a _generous soul_ early on, it would make it easier to prank him later. Every new guy had to run the gauntlet, after all. "Alright, I'm comin', I'm comin'."

His mother moved out of the way as he left his room and marched down the stairs, following after him after closing his bedroom door for him. Arriving on the main floor, he found Steve currently standing just inside the door, looking this way and that with curiosity; like he was trying to get a read on the place whilst restricted to the entryway. The guy had a fat lip, like someone had recently smacked him a good one, but otherwise looked exactly the same as he had at school that day.

"Eric!" Steve exclaimed. "Thank you, I know it's late..."

" _Late?_ Fuck you dude, I don't have a fucking _bedtime,_ what kind of child do you think I am?" Cartman spat back. "What the hell was it you needed my help with? I swear to god, if it's something super lame, I will not let you hear the end of it."

"It's not, I promise!" Steve responded instantly. "I do this online cinematography class- like shooting _movies_ and stuff, y'know? And I need an extra hand to capture a shot, and the night sky just turned out _perfect_ tonight, so if I wait I'm going to lose the shot I want to get. It'll be _super_ quick, and I can even credit you on the project-"

"Shit dude, you're making movies? Why the _fuck_ didn't you say so? You _need_ talent like mine." There was a sense of _elation_ that made Cartman grin; first modeling, and now a movie shoot? Shit was just going his _way,_ wasn't it? " _Maaaaaaaaaaaym,_ can I go out? Steve wants me to be in his _movie!"_

The child-like _wail_ that he let loose was hardly nessesary; his mother was still hovering at the base of the stairs. "Why, that's _wonderful,_ pumpkin- but hurry back as soon as you're done, okay?"

"I _willlll."_ Cartman responded, putting on the affectation of a five-year-old as he signaled to Steve to head out. Getting his shoes on and pulling on his outwear was a process that took mere moments, and as soon as the door was shut he had a little laugh to himself and told Steve. "That bitch lets me do whatever the fuck I want, she's so _stupid."_

Steve had no response for that, simply making a hand signal for _this way_ as he took off down the front walk, striking off to the right once he hit the sidewalk. He was actually moving pretty _fast,_ moving with distinct purpose; Cartman almost had to _jog_ to keep up. "Whoa, dude, wait for me!" He cried out, but it had no effect on Steve's pace. He was a teen on a mission, leading the way down the road towards the bus-stop, past lit houses where an odd number of adults were milling about, checking bushes and calling out for Butters- the kid was missing. Cartman's mom had also been notified, but she had to remain at home tonight due to an appointment she'd already made for her little 'tutoring' business. Cartman figured the idiot would show up sooner or later; Butters had been through so much at this point that Cartman was beginning to suspect he was actually indestructible.

 _Like Kenny, heh._

"Dude, where the hell are we going?" Cartman quested as their pace didn't slack. "You can't just take a guy you just met and make him run a _fuckin' marathon_ for a movie role- it's not _ethical."_

Once again, Steve didn't answer him.

"Hey, man, if you're doing a movie-thing, where's your camera?" Cartman asked as they left the main section of residential houses behind, crossing in front of the bus-stop and continuing on towards the elementary school. Finally, Steve turned his head a little to respond.

"Oh, it's a _found-footage_ thing, so I'm shooting it all on phone cameras. Horror really needs to make a comeback if you ask me. C'mon, this way." He suddenly made a turn to cross the street, hurrying to the other sidewalk.

" _Awe, man, found-footage?"_ Cartman groused as he followed behind. "That shit's fuckin' _weak- The Blair Witch Project_ wasn't even fuckin' scary, dude."

"Oh, no, I agree- not nearly enough action or gore. Found-footage is supposed to suggest to the viewer that they're seeing something _real,_ and then they cut all the terror out of it by not showing anything tangible. Besides, this isn't about any magic bullshit. A _serial kidnapping,_ actually." Steve responded, explaining as they arrived on the other side of the street. Near them was a nondescript white van, which he approached, tugging a jingling key ring out of his pocket. He then turned, and gave the keys to Cartman. "Okay, so what I want you to do is use your phone to take a video of yourself unlocking the back hatch doors of this van, and reacting to what's inside. I want you to go in totally cold- I've already got the props in there ready, so all I need you to do is film and react. I'm gonna be back here with my phone for a second angle, just in case the first one isn't any good. You got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it- you gonna call _action_ or whatever?" Cartman quested as he took the keys and pulled out his phone, aware that Steve had stepped back behind him now.

"Sure, sure, let me just get into position. Make sure you're recording."

"Don't get your panties in a knot, I've got it." Cartman assured, though he had to tug off one of his gloves to get his stupid touch-screen to recognize that he'd pressed the record button, and then pull the glove on again, which caused him to drop the keys in the snow. _"Damnit!"_ He snapped as his phone began to take footage.

"It's okay, pick 'em up." Steve encouraged from behind.

Cartman huffed as he bent in the snow, grabbing the dropped keys while holding his phone to capture the actions of his own fingers, his phone also functioning as a flashlight in the dark to light the 'scene' as it were. He'd just gotten a hold on the key ring again when...

" _H-hello? Is someone out there? I'd like to come out now!"_

Cartman blinked, looking up towards the van.

He knew that pathetic little whimper of a voice.

"What the _hell? Butters! Is that you?!"_

" _Eric?!"_ It was a near-squeal that came from within the van.

Cartman had half-turned back towards Steve, to ask him what the _fuck_ was going on and why he had a missing kid in the back of a van- sure, if he was going to have someone play a victim there really _wasn't_ a better casting than Butters, but he'd _disrupted half the town,_ and he'd not even been here for a full week. The new kid was encroaching on his territory as the town menace, _damnit-_ though he'd have to work a _lot_ harder to be the worst thing that had ever happened to Butters. His mouth was open, ready to shout at Steve for fucking with his town and his terf.

His jaw was left slack when he found Steve behind him not with a camera, but with a pistol. It was pointed right at him, shining in the light from his cellphone; the barrel of a gun held by someone who knew exactly how to handle it. Steve, who had been tending towards ingratiating smiles ever since he arrived in South Park, now wore a _glower_ that made him look much, much older in the way it folded his face around the nose and eyes. His smile remained, but it was a _smug_ and _dangerous_ thing, now.

"Open the door." He insisted. "Nice and easy."

"D-dude, that's... that's a hell of a prop, r-right?" Cartman tried to laugh it off; it had to be a prop. Steve said he wanted him to go in cold- he must have casted himself as the bad guy. No _way_ that weapon was real.

Though it looked pretty fuckin' real.

" _Open the door!"_

Steve roared out the order, and Cartman jumped in an about-face, singling out the correct key with a nervous hand now as hot adrenaline made him sweat beneath his hat. He missed the lock a couple times, whimpering as he did so until he finally got the key to go into the lock and turning it. A solid _thunk_ within the door signaled that it was unlocked, and he let go of the key to instead grasp the handle, pulling the back hatch of the van open as he'd originally been directed- albeit with a bit more _panic_ in his system than before. The footage from his phone was going to be some shaky-ass shit.

Lights inside the van came on as the door opened, and the view on Cartman's phone camera went bright white before coming into focus. Cartman, on the other hand, was simply blinded and squinting for a similar amount of time, covering his brow with his arm for a moment before being confronted with what was within. Butters was there, oh yes, the blond boy held in bondage by a length of rope and bleeding from the temple like someone had hit him extremely hard within the past few hours.

Also present was Mysterion; currently unconscious with scorch marks on the chest of his costume, like someone had tazed him, and similarly tied up.

" _Eric!"_ Butters was crying; either he was _really_ hamming it up, or this shit was real. " _Eric, he's got a gun! It's a real one!"_

He felt the hard shape of the pistol meet the back of his head. _Metal, cold._ If it was a prop, it was one of striking quality.

"Now why don't you send that little video clip to your _good friend Douchebag?"_

At that moment, Cartman did not have the courage to risk non-compliance.

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

DUN-DUN-DUUUUUUUN

 _Oh shit the government finally sent someone competent... and sadistic._

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	12. Preparation Is Key

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Preparation Is Key::**

Dee had been asleep on the basement workbench not even five minutes after getting home from school.

She'd arrived home, waved at her dad from across the living room, and disappeared into the bowls of the house with her backpack. Her _intent_ had been to do her homework down there, which amounted to an outline for a writing assignment from her English class, and then get back to work on the various priming noises she was making for her phone to be deployed in emergency situations- the glitchy, loud, angry sounds that contained the if-and statements that allowed her to influence others in the real world with a measure of direct accuracy. Of course, what made one _ready_ for deployment was something of a mystery; all she could really do was replicate the ones she had used at the school dance and on Cartman, but change out the commands embedded in the noise, and assume that would work. It wasn't like she could _test_ them on anyone without once again straying into the delightful world of _unethical science._

She'd taken the time to hook her phone up to her shitty little laptop, and commence a file transfer of the completed audio clips over to the device as she pulled out her notebook and a pen to work on the essay outline.

After staring at the lined paper for about a minute... not a single thought had crossed her mind. What was she supposed to be writing about again? Eyes fluttered, her head bobbed, and a little while after that she slumped forward on the workbench and rested her tired and achy eyes.

Sleep claimed her shortly thereafter, an entire weekend of all-nighters catching up with her.

The next she knew, her phone was buzzing against the hard wooden table next to her ear- _once, twice, thrice-_ an insistent barrage that roused her.

" _Nnnnuuuuuh...?"_

Naps that passed in only a brief awareness of blacked out thought were terrifying, like unconsciously triggered time hops. Dee found herself with a terrible crick in her back and neck, and a line of drool going between her lips and her somewhat damp notebook which she'd been using as an impromptu pillow. She looked up, and the narrow window above the workbench which had previously been lit with afternoon light was now _dark,_ drawing energy out of the room as her body existed as little more than a warm, fuzzy, ill-defined _mass_ that happened to have her painful spinal column attached to it. Wiping her mouth with a sleeve, she blinked until vague shapes lit by yellow Christmas lights settled into their appropriate shapes with fine details intact, and clumsily reached for her phone.

 _6:20-_ she'd slept through dinner time. Why hadn't her dad come down to wake her up for food? That was _weird._

There wasn't much time to _dwell_ on that, however- the texts were all from Wendy, and her phone showing her the first few words of each did a great job at waking her the rest of the way up with a jolt of shock straight to the base of the spine.

[Received, 6:19] Butters is missing. His parents were just here, asking my parents to help look for him.  
[Received, 6:19] Kenny got a message from his phone, but he suspects it wasn't sent by Butters. It asked him to meet him by the playground, on the basketball court.  
[Received, 6:20] He called me from there when Butters didn't show, said he had a bad feeling, then said he had to go and instructed me to tell you. I think they're both in trouble.

 _That_ was a hell of a way to wake up. Dee was up and out of her chair, boneless and sleepy legs taking a second to remember how _knees_ worked. _Butters was missing?_ Alarm bells went off in her groggy brain, bent on an instant _certainty_ that 'Steve' had tipped his hand earlier than the end of the month. The dead-limbed warmth that weighed her down evaporated beneath a wave of _fire_ that crashed over her head as irrational rage demanded _action-_ hustling over to the basement stairs while typing a response. She was briefly tugged back towards her shitty laptop as she forgot to disconnect the USB that her phone had been using both for file transfer and charge, knocking it away with a snarl in the back of her throat as she hit the _send_ button.

[Sent, 6:21] Shit  
[Sent, 6:21] On my way to Kenny's last known location, any chance you can figure out where Butters is?

It seemed a place to start; Wendy's tech wizardry often came with limitations, but she'd pulled more rabbits out of her hat than Dee cared to _count._ In the meantime, she had her own course of action that had been decided on in less than an instant. The thoughts of _Butters is missing_ and _Kenny might be in trouble_ coupled up into a mix more potent than the best pep pills, driving a snap judgment that her friends might be in more than _trouble,_ they might be in _danger-_ the agents who had come to town before had been willing to kill _her,_ the one they had been after for years. She imagined after that kind of commitment, a couple child casualties in a small mountain town wasn't something this 'Steve' asshole was going to think twice about.

Going out as herself would make it worse. If her enemy had Butters, this was already a hostage situation... and arriving as _herself,_ as the person he was seeking leverage over, was playing the game his way.

It was time to put on a different face.

Dee's path had taken her not to the foot of the steps to go upstairs, but along side the steps that descended into the basement. Beneath those steps was a closet, built into the wooden base that supported the weight of anyone who might use them. While the landing had a hollow area below it, used for the hang-out cubby, the _stairs_ part of the stairs had a storage cupboard built into it with a lock on the door. Dad had originally kept his stash of _naughty magazines_ in there, along with a set of free weights, but when Dee took over the basement? He found a different place for his porn stash and gave her the key.

Dee had been keeping her suit here, ever since.

[Received, 6:22] I'm on it, but no promises.  
[Received, 6:22] I'll open our usual communication channel in a minute, bring your headset. Will add Kenny once we've made contact

It felt as if she and Wendy were on the same wavelength- there was no question about whether or not it was the time to gear up and head out, _of course it was._ Dee set to slipping out of her day clothes in what could be considered record time, losing hoodie and baggy jeans to be replaced by black sweats coupled up with black boots- with the black shirt she often wore under her hoodie, it made up the base layer of her costume. Next was the hard mask that went over her eyes and nose, shaped to her face and blocking off most of her identifying features, bordered at the top in dark purple and at the bottom in electric blue. Purple gloves were pulled on that were both for style and protection from the cold, and finally the long black overcoat was shrugged on over the top and zipped up, hemmed in blinding electric blue as well- a color choice that was as much about aesthetics _now_ as it had been about _being seen by cars in the street_ when she was a kid had had first put the outfit together.

Pulling the hood up, she couldn't help but _remember_ every other time she'd worn this outfit. What it always _meant-_ whether it was games with her friends or serious missions with Mysterion, wearing this get-up always put her in the mind-set of having shit to get done. Whatever happened, she had an objective, and she was going to do everything within her power to accomplish it.

The last piece was her Bluetooth earpiece, tucked in under her hood and switched on, giving it a moment to connect with her phone.

[Sent, 6:25] Headset on, ready when you are

Dee didn't wait for Wendy to send the call; she had closed up the cupboard under the stairs and locked it up again, the key going into one of the many strategic pockets sewn into her overcoat as she went upstairs. Arrival at the top gave her a hint as to where her parents had gone; there was a post-it note from her father informing her that Butters was missing and her parents had joined his parents to look for him, and that there was a plate of food in the fridge for her when she woke up.

She scoffed softly, leaving the post-it where it was and stepping out of the basement as her phone rang. Accepting the call, she heard Wendy's voice on the other end of the line.

" _Let's do this."_

* * *

" _I don't like this. Mysterion isn't answering his phone."_

Call Girl was echoing her own thoughts as Buttlord arrived at the playground, glancing left and right while standing beneath a flickering lamp light that appeared to be suffering from a dodgy light sensor that couldn't decide whether or not it was dark enough to be _on._ A quick scan of the area revealed the snow-dusted basketball court to be _silent;_ with a multitude of footprints criss-crossing it from local kids who cut through the court on their walks home to various neighborhood animals. There hadn't been any _recent_ snowfall, so telling a fresh set of tracks out of all the old ones was far from a simple task, made harder by the incomplete light.

Such complete quiet was _worrying..._ but also freed her up to respond.

"He's not here." She murmured lowly, leaving the light post to walk to the center of the outdoor court, turning herself in slow circles as she crossed the wide open space. It was _so fucking quiet,_ it felt eerie. "No one is. Absolutely dead."

" _Shit."_

"Any luck on Butters's location?" Buttlord quested as she arrived at the middle of the space, teeth catching the fleshy interior of her cheeks to chew on herself as nervousness began to bubble up inside her ribs. _If I were Kenny, where would I go if I felt like I was about to be attacked? For cover, nearest cover is..._

Eyes alighted on the outbuilding next to the court; the public restrooms.

" _No dice. If he has it on him, it's either connected to a secured wi-fi signal or it's in airplane mode. Buttlord, I'm beginning to feel like this guy is... smarter than we gave him credit for."_

 _You too, huh?_ She didn't let that thought pass through the air, but it was the basis of the knots of anxiety that was tightening her shoulders at that moment, walking towards the public restrooms beneath the dim and dirty bulbs of public lighting. "Suggestions?" She asked instead while reaching into her pocket for her phone, drawing it out to use as a flashlight to get a better view of the ground. The prints in the snow were less numerous on the edges of the court; it was possible she might see something _helpful_ here.

" _I think we need to assume that he's going to go to any lengths to **get** you, whatever that means to him. For all we know, Butters might already be..."_

That thought drained away into mortified silence.

That was a horrible thought, one that made her very much want to scream at the sky in some form of berserk rage. Or cry. Maybe both- but neither feelings were _appropriate_ right now.

"Think I should take a do-over?" Buttlord quested gruffly, cutting to the chase while sweeping the bright light of her phone over the ground. For the most part there were just a lot of regular shoe-prints; people coming and going from the public restrooms, either to use them for their intended purpose, seeking respite from the cold wind, to vandalize, or looking for a moment's privacy- foot traffic was a lot _less_ in the colder months, but the smell wasn't as bad, either, making it a popular make-out spot for teenagers sneaking around behind their parents' back.

The one impression on the ground that didn't fit with that was a drag-mark that had obliterated an entire path of prints; what looked like a _person_ had been pulled through the thin layer of snow, away from one of the bathroom doors and curving around the little outbuilding to leave the basketball court and go elsewhere.

" _It's worth thinking about. It's always an option, right?"_

"Memory isn't always _solvent_ after a hop, Call Girl." She noted dully. "For all we know, we've already _done_ this multiple times, but we keep falling into line with the memory echo... though unlikely, I haven't had any _deja vu_ feelings- point is, it's always possible that none of us will hold on to enough information to make a difference, and just do the same path all over again- time travel is always a _gamble_ to some extent. I agree, it's an option... but only as a last resort."

Cautiously, Buttlord pushed the door to the bathroom open, stepping inside and sweeping the light from her phone over the interior. Something smelled... _burnt_ inside. Not like a struck match, no sulfur, but rather the smell of _plastic_ and _ozone-_ it stung her nose and made it wrinkle up under the shape of her mask. She pushed the door open until the bar at the top locked, not allowing it to close behind her as she stepped into the closed space to investigate.

" _Okay, so what's second-to-last resort for dealing with this asshole? Because I've got a couple of ideas, most of them involving the nail-gun in Stan's garage."_

"I was thinkin' we might leave 'em to the hicks- gets us out of having to hide a body." Buttlord muttered, noting something shiny on the floor.

" _Oh, shit, that's a good point..."_

 _Spit,_ colored red with blood; partially dried up. _Gross_ on one part, but it also pointed to a recent struggle in this little room. The burning smell, too, said _something_ had happened in here.

Had Mysterion been hurt?

 _If you fucking touched either of my friends, you government douche-knuckle, there is not a deity in this universe that can protect you._

"Then again... keep that nail-gun on hot standby." Buttlord added darkly before reporting. "Mysterion isn't here, but I think both him and the agent were, and not long ago- there's blood on the floor in the bathroom, drag mark leading away from the door... and a smell like there was some kind of electrical fire, but I don't see any exposed wires or scorch marks. There was a confrontation, and _someone_ didn't walk away from it." Buttlord reported.

" _And Mysterion isn't answering his phone. Buttlord-"_

"I know." She didn't have to say it- this _did not fucking look good._ In fact, it looked _fucking terrible,_ like her _partner/boyfriend_ had been captured by the enemy, and left zero trace of where the hell she needed to go to exact violent revenge until her gloves turned red with the broken, bloody sludge of a government agent's face.

It was the kind of feeling that made her tremble with the effort needed to contain it; to keep her head down and continue searching for clues.

Just to be thorough, she opened the bathroom stall and peered inside it. The toilet was of... _expected_ quality for a public restroom, but she found one last object of interest inside the stall. Tucked behind the toilet, almost out of view, was an old backpack. _Kenny's backpack,_ she recognized. She quickly snatched it up, taking it over to the sink to put it down and tug the zipper open with one hand, the other still holding her phone to provide direct light. Inside she found... his clothes. The orange parka, his jeans, and his regular shoes- he must have brought his Mysterion suit in the backpack and changed when he suspected he might have been in trouble. Why bring it? Did he suspect the text from Butters might have been trouble from the very beginning? If so, that kid had some fucking accurate gut-feelings. She and Call Girl had only been using code names on the channel out of habit; neither of knew that he'd suited up before dropping out of contact.

Digging in, she moved his clothes out of the way to see if there was anything else in the pack. There appeared to be some on-the-job basics; some snacks, an old copy of Playboy on the off chance that he got _bored_ waiting for something to happen, and-

" _Hello,_ what's _this?"_

There was a phone in the bottom of the backpack, but it wasn't Kenny's usual iPhone. It was a smartphone, but of a cheaper model; less memory capacity, off brand? Buttlord put her own phone down as she picked this one up, pressing the home button and getting the screen to flare to life. It was currently on an app for location sharing, another phone identified with the custom nickname 'BACKUP PLS.'

"Mysterion, you beautiful bastard."

" _What is it? What did you find?"_ Call Girl demanded.

"I found his back-pack." Buttlord reported, taking the ratty pack and slinging it over her own shoulder, zipping it up and leaving the bathroom with her phone in one hand, this apparent extra Mysterion had been keeping in the other. "Mysterion had a burner phone tucked in the bottom with which he enabled location-sharing. I've got GPS on where he is, now. Fucker thinks of _everything."_ If the map was anything to go by, he was somewhere across the street from the elementary school, and he wasn't currently on the move. His lack of contact suggested he'd been taken captive... but he'd been _ready_ for that eventuality and planned ahead. Now she just had to find the best way to _use_ that information.

" _ **Oh thank God.** Where is it? I can arrange police back-up." _

Buttlord was about to answer... when her phone informed her of a new multimedia message... from _Cartman?_ That was weird. Why was he sending her a video right now? She thought it was worth ignoring, but got a text right after that made her look twice.

[Received: 7:09] BUTTERS AND MYSTERION PLS WATCH HELP HELP HELP

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

As we spend a chapter catching up with Alyssa, and reminding us all how fucking _smart_ Mysterion is.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	13. Textbook Takedown

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Textbook Take-down::**

" _Now why don't you send that video to your **good friend Douchebag?"**_

Dee had witnessed the video on her phone while standing in the middle of the outdoor basketball court, swallowing hard when she saw Butters crying out for help, and Mysterion _incapacitated_ with burn marks on his chest. Had Steve _tased_ him? Depending on the strength of the shock, he risked stopping his heart! And she had zero doubt that gun was the real thing- the bloody brow Butters was sporting came from a sharp blow with the butt of something heavy with a rough edge.

Teeth gritted together. This kind of _theatrical_ approach was that of someone who had utter confidence in his position of power, that _he_ was the one in control. This _Steve_ asshole, though she really doubted that was his real name, had sent this as a notification that he had not one, two, but _three_ human lives in his custody, and he had no qualms about using them to get what he wanted. All that was left was a list of demands... and that was already downloading- her phone was processing another multimedia message from Cartman's number.

" _What the **hell** did I just listen to?" _

Call Girl was in her ear, a twang of _terror_ in her voice as she'd been left to interpret the video Buttlord had just watched on sound alone.

"Forwarding." Buttlord muttered, sending the first video on to her ever-listening partner as the second one was finishing and nearly ready to play. "Another one coming in."

A preview image loaded for the video. It was a face, but it wasn't Cartman's.

Buttlord's brow furrowed beneath her mask, tapping the play button. Her nemesis took over her full phone screen, no longer putting on any sort of affectation of a teen. No, he held the authority and confidence of an adult among a sea of _children,_ a grim line making up his mouth that occasionally twitched upwards in smug certainty that he had everything well-in-hand.

" _Hello, **Dee**. Assuming you've been keeping up on your messages, you just witnessed the most **entertaining** little film- but just in case you missed the point, I'll make sure to spell it out for you." _

The camera turned away, blurred over the night time landscape and snow to once again get a view of the white panel van that had been seen in Cartman's video- the one he'd opened to find a terrified Butters within, and an incapacitated Mysterion with burn marks on his chest. Mysterion was still out for the count, and it looked like Butters had been whacked again- he was either unconscious or intensely dazed. There was an additional hostage, however; Cartman had been restrained and added to the pile, with some kind of fabric shoved in his mouth as a make-shift gag, which he was actively shouting against in an attempt to hurl all violent language at the man filming him. Over this scene, 'Steve' kept talking. _"I've reason to believe that each of these people are important to you in some manner. They might even be the ones who have been helping you repel my compatriots for years. The point is that I have them, and whether or not they live to see tomorrow depends entirely on_ _ **you."**_

The camera turned back to his face once more. _"You will meet me at the bus stop, and we will discuss the_ _ **job**_ _you should be doing- if I don't like what I hear, or if you don't show up,_ _ **everybody dies.**_ _You have ten minutes."_

The video ended, without so much as a _toodaloo._

* * *

Agent _Asshole_ was exactly where he said he would be- sitting on the bench at the bus stop. He appeared perfectly calm, still dressed as if he were just another teen in the population of South Park, idly checking his phone every little while- only it wasn't _his_ phone. That was Cartman's. Buttlord could recognize it from across the street where she was camped out, watching intently. Assessing situations like this wasn't usually her job- _Mysterion_ was better at that; getting the lay of the land, guessing who may or may not be armed at a glance, figuring out the right approach. He was always the planner between the two of them, and then he pointed her in the right direction and told her who to punch, where, and how hard.

Much as she wanted to be reuniting with her partner at that moment, there hadn't been time for that. _Ten minutes_ was a tight deadline, and she was sitting on the edge of it. She was waiting, watching, still as a statue and suppressing a shiver as cold snow soaked through the fabric of her costume. _Note to self, invest in a water-resistant thermal layer._

" _I'm in position."_

Call Girl's voice over the communication's channel, but she wasn't the only one on this party line.

" _Me too."_

" _Same here."_

Stan and Kyle had been added, quickly organized to deal with the hostage situation once _Steve_ was neutralized. Neither of them had hesitated when Call Girl had requested their assistance, although Kyle complained that he didn't have time to throw together any sort of heroic costume.

Buttlord remained quiet; it wasn't her job to talk right now. It was her job to _act..._ at exactly the right moment.

 _Ten minutes._ She checked it on her own phone, the brightness set to its lowest setting, and watched the clock on her lock screen turn over. Looking up, she saw 'Steve' checking his time as well. His face twisted- it appeared in disappointment, before reaching into his zip-up hoodie and beginning to pull something out from some hidden pocket or another.

 _Now!_

Of all the time-ripping abilities Dee had, _freezing_ time was perhaps her favorite, and the one that bore the least consequences when practiced. Literally nothing could hurt her when she moved through a frozen moment in time, because her actual flesh did not remain in one place long enough to burn, or be electrocuted, or otherwise- and when the freeze was over, she returned to her original position. It was the one she worked on this most, and over time she'd been able to extend the time she could remain in a frozen moment from a few seconds into a near half-minute. _Twenty-eight seconds-_ twenty-eight seconds of _stasis_ that allowed her to leave behind a glowing shadow of herself in the bushes in toxic-smelling fog expelled from her body and make a flat-out sprint across the street towards where her adversary sat.

 _One, two, three,_

Arriving upon the opposite sidewalk, she dug her heels in to skid to a stop and look down upon _Agent Short-Stack_ with all malice. He was stopped mid-motion, his hand loosely holding an object just beneath his coat. Pulling back the fabric, she saw the object to be what she presumed to be _his_ cellular phone.

 _Four, five, six,_

She didn't hesitate or question it, she simply pulled it from his grasp and skittered around the bus stop, diving into the clump of bushes just behind. There, crouched in the snow, she found another figure exactly where she was promised to be.

 _Seven, eight, nine, ten,_

 _Call Girl-_ man oh man, how long had it been since _Wendy_ had gotten a chance to suit up? The costume looked a lot like the old one, but she had thicker leggings and a long-sleeved under layer now to protect from the cold. There were more fine details than that, but now wasn't the time to admire how pretty Call Girl looked in her suit- the stolen phone was pressed into the frozen girl's hand and fingers made to curl around the purloined object.

 _Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen,_

Back to the bus-stop in a hurry, grasping one of the supporting bars Buttlord came around the corner to further inspect what else Steve was hiding under his coat. Tugging on the fabric revealed a side-hostler for a pistol with an additional pocket containing- _holy shit so that's what a taser looks like. Cool._ On the other side was a belt-holster for a small knife.

 _Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,_

Weapons were stolen, Buttlord grasping each, yanking them out of their hiding places, and shoving them into her own hidden pockets. She wanted no surprises- too much was riding on this.

 _Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two,_

There was time to return to her position; it always cut down on disorientation if she went back to where she started before she ran out of time and the normal flow of the ticking clock resumed. Then again...

 _Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five,_

It was a snap decision, using the fact that this asshole had decided to have a seat on the bus-stop bench with the _man-spread_ going on. Lining up a shot, she drew one knee up high and crushed the heel of her boot down on his nuts.

 _Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight._

Suddenly, she was back in the bushes, and a raw cry of pain, shock, and surprise was ringing out from across the street as _someone_ quickly went to grasp his family jewels. The force of returning to where she started gave her a sense of being whipped about by a roller coaster's G-force, her body complaining with a brief sense of nausea... but hearing a grown midget sob just a few yards away made it _completely_ worth it.

" _Got it! … oh my god. He was going to set off a bomb. This was set to trigger an explosive in the van- it also had a monitor for tampering."_

Buttlord didn't wait for Call Girl's assessment of the situation. She'd just relieved the agent of all of his effects, and she'd let the shock of _the majority of her friendly circle nearly dying by explosion_ sink in later. She was on her feet, checking her pockets to make sure she had everything she thought she did- pistol, knife, taser; all were present on her person... which meant Steve had _nothing._

 _And_ he was doubled over on a bus bench, cradling his manly bits. _Bonus._

" _Holy shit! You mean he was gonna...?"_ Stan reacted where Dee didn't, realizing in terror that he and Kyle had camped out next to a bomb waiting for the go-ahead to begin a rescue operation.

" _It's okay."_ Call Girl assured as Buttlord began to cross the street- in _real time,_ now. _"I've disarmed it. Go ahead and break a window or something- get our friends out of there... Cartman, too. I'll be there in a minute."_

That was the last word that Buttlord needed to hear. Out of the bushes, most of the way across the street, she reached for her phone and killed her connection to the others. They would all meet up later, after everyone who had been taken was _safe._

She crossed into the light from the near-by lamp post, and it cast a shadow over the cursing man on the bench, who did not sound at all like a child as he bemoaned the pain of getting a sucker-punch _[kick?]_ to the balls. Had he assumed it was some kind of spontaneous muscle pain, unable to imagine how anyone might get a strike on him and thinking it a sudden medical condition? Or maybe she'd kicked him hard enough that the pain had overtaken what should have been his first instinct to _look around_ and wonder who the hell _looted his pockets_ and assaulted his manhood.

Either way, the shadow falling over him got him to look up. He looked _confused,_ and _angry-_ the sort of flat out rage that begot childish tantrums when one thought they had rigged the game, but still emerged defeated.

It was interesting seeing that look on a face that wasn't Cartman's.

"And just who the _fuck_ are you?!" Steve snapped viciously, the hand that might have retrieved his phone plunging into his jacket... to find he had nothing to attack with. Eyes widened, and rage gave way to _panic._

Dee didn't say a word, but instead reached into one of her pockets and pulled out the taser she'd _liberated_ from him. She eyed it a moment, turning it this way and that way in her hand. How did this work? She assumed the red buttons on either side were as good a place to start as any.

Wryly, she smirked while looking back to the man she'd stolen it from.

"How the- _what the-?"_

Steve suddenly tripped to his feet, moving to the side as he realized he'd been cornered with his own gear. Buttlord side-stepped to block him from leaving the bus stop kiosk, lest he decided to suddenly reveal that he was strong enough to smash his fat, squat body through Plexiglas.

 _I don't know if Mysterion told you... but you **really** picked the wrong town to fuck with._

Diving in, she aimed the metal contacts of the device straight for the nipples.

* * *

 _Where the **fuck** am I?_

It wasn't exactly the best of thoughts to wake up with, but it also wasn't an uncommon one in Kenny's brain. More often than not, it was immediately followed by the thought of _oh, shit, back home... well_ _ **fuck,**_ but it appeared tonight was not one of those nights. While he did remember, rather vividly, the specific pain of getting 1,000 volts to the chest, he was _not_ in his bed at home... and that meant he didn't die.

It almost meant that his chest was still fucking sore. _Ups and downs,_ he supposed. Still, his main identifier for _not his room at home_ was the lack of cracks in the ceiling... so where the fuck _was_ he?

Blinking, he got his head to turn a little bit. He could tell he was prone, on something soft- a couch? Yeah, something of the sort. _Purple walls- Dee's house has purple walls. And that coffee table. And that TV._

He felt something touch his foot- telling him first that he wasn't alone on the couch, and second that his boots had been removed. Sensation drove an instinctual reaction, to sit up and and assume the worst, ready to kick some ass despite dazed disorientation.

When he arrived in an upright position, he found himself halted- Dee was sitting on the arm rest on the other end of the couch, and had not been the one to touch his foot. _Butters,_ on the other hand, was also laid out and was currently under Dee's care as she disinfected a pair of wounds on his forehead which appeared to be the result of blunt-force trauma. Also prone, it was inevitable that his feet were going to touch Kenny's feet at some point, and it appeared that the boy was coming around from a vegetative state of his own, muttering lowly as Dee cleaned the cuts on his brow.

Speaking of Dee, she wasn't dressed as she usually was. He recognized the sweatpants from the Buttlord costume, and the black undershirt that she generally wore under any given outfit, specifically paired up with a binder to make her chest look as flat as boys their age. If she was dressed as Buttlord, the mask and coat were missing. If she was dressed as herself, the fact that her hoodie wasn't present was _odd,_ particularly with Butters present. Her undershirt was a tight sleeveless, and an observant person might have still perceived the more feminine shape of her body... then again, it appeared that she had better things to worry about at that second. She hadn't even noticed him move, the way she was fussing over Butters.

"Hey." Oh, hey, that was his voice- _unmuffled._ Oh, shit, that was right, he was still in the Mysterion costume. He'd changed when he'd suspected trouble, along with setting up his burner phone just in case the worst happened... which it appeared _it did._

Dee's head suddenly jerked over, messy red floof going where it pleased and requiring a rough pawing out of her face as she peered over at him. All at once, he saw her face light up, and maybe even a movement towards dive-bombing him for a hug- but she held herself back and gave him a _one moment_ signal with her hand, holding up a finger and returning to her task with Butters. Dried blood cleared away, ointment was applied and followed by gauze pads held in place by medical tape.

Kenny got the feeling that Dee knew more about first-aid than the average teen; when he'd showed up at her house beat to shit by his brother she hadn't even _hesitated_ to treat him, and the way she handled these things suggested a level of practice.

He also got the feeling that she'd been worried about him, what with the _attack-hug_ that came two seconds after she'd finished with Butters's cranium. She'd dove at him, remaining half-off of the couch and wrapping her arms tight around his ribs- the same ribs that were terribly angry with him after an electrical shock but _shit the last thing he was going to do right now was shove away his worried girlfriend/partner._ Instead, he drew in a hissing breath between his teeth, muttering " _Not quite so tight?"_ As a pained suggestion while returning the embrace.

All at once, she loosened, and then sat back on her heels, kneeling on the floor in front of the couch and looking up at him with her hands on his legs. She looked _exhausted,_ her expression reading as a mixture of _worried, relieved, stressed, and fucking pissed._ There was a lot in there, all bouncing around as each feeling fought for dominance over the muscles that controlled her face.

"Where's the asshole?" Kenny saw fit to ask.

 _Anger_ took over, and she pointed up. He had to assume that she had captured the SOB, seeing as he was _not_ in custody and neither was Butters.

"... what else did I miss?"

"A _lot."_

Another voice came from the stairs, and it got Kenny to twist his head around and find himself with a rather surprised smile. "Call Girl!" He exclaimed- when was the last time he'd seen _that_ outfit? Had she updated it? Yeah, the skirt looked new... then again, all of them had been forced to adapt to the unfortunate phenomenon that was _growing up._ "... what happened?"

"I did what you told me, and Buttlord took it from there." Wendy responded easily, coming around to the front of the couch and having a seat on the floor. Kenny hadn't noticed at first, but there was a bunch of stuff under the coffee table that wasn't there the last time he'd been at Dee's house; a laptop, some storage devices, and a whole lot of wires. "We've got the jerkwad upstairs- and we also got the opportunity to raid his van. I'm going to start mining his computer for information, and the others are warming up our _captive_ until Buttlord is ready to set terms for him."

"Others?" Kenny blinked. "Who got involved?"

"Cartman got taken captive, Stan and Kyle came out to help with the rescue and retrieval." Call Girl responded simply as Dee got up, returning to where Butters still appeared only half-conscious. No doubt she was worried about the kid being concussed. "We haven't notified the public that Butters has been found, yet, so all the parents are still out looking for him... which gives us a little time."

"What are you going to do?" Kenny's head turned to address Dee with that question; it sounded like she'd taken control... but he also knew that Dee tended to be _less than merciful_ when she was angry. She was hot-headed, prone to violence, _prone to excessive action when provoked._

Dee looked back, wearing a wicked grin that did nothing to change that perception.

Outside the house, Kenny could identify a sound that had blended into the background before. It was so familiar it had faded into _white noise,_ but now came into focus in the quiet of Dee's living room. The sound of angry voices, many voices, all bouncing off one another in a town-wide warcry.

 _It was the sound of a South Park mob._

"... what _did_ you tell the public?"

"Nothing that isn't true." Wendy assured, pulling the stolen laptop onto her lap. "A government agent _did_ kidnap three children- and he even sent _us_ a handy video that showed him threatening a kid with a gun while forcing him to take video of the other two captives. A little editing, uploaded onto The Farting Vigilante's Facebook page, with a _mugshot_ that he handily provided with a _different_ video..."

Dee made a strangled noise that probably _wanted_ to be a cackle, but was held back by years of habitual silence to turn into a strange _ke-ke-ke-ke_ in the back of her throat.

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

AND THAT IS WHY YOU DON'T FUCK WITH SOUTH PARK

*Ahem*

Can we all tell I'm getting really into this shit now? Picking this path meant I didn't get to do a different gambit that I felt was going to be a lot of fun, but I saved all my notes- no doubt they'll come in handy for a future story. :D Editing down ideas is part of writing, too.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	14. Because Fuck You Agent Russel

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Because Fuck You Agent Russel::**

" _Oooh say can you seeeee~"_

Agent Russel awoke to someone singing the national anthem... _badly,_ and the sensation of a thin stream of liquid being poured on his clothes. In fact, he realized, he was sitting in a puddle of some kind of tepid substance which smelled rather like-

 _Like piss._

Eyes fluttered and his body jolted, only to find his hands had been secured behind his back with what felt like plastic zip-ties. Stubby legs kicked out, and hit the edge of a bathtub, sloshing the mildly warm fluid he'd been marinating in for at least several minutes if the stinging feeling of his skin was anything to go by.

Shocked, more than a little grossed out, the rather small man looked up to find a trio of boys standing over him. He recognized them from the recon he'd been doing before tonight; Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski, both people that his target hung out with at the bus stop and during lunch. They were hanging back, hands in their pockets, though they had no pity for the man in the tub as the third kid who was currently urinating on him continued his rendition of _O Say Can You See_ without a single hint of irony.

" _By the dawn's early liiiight~"_ Sang Eric Cartman, aiming for the Agent's open mouth as he gaped and tried to grasp exactly what was happening to him at that moment.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you kids?!" Agent Russel spat, his body thrashing around to avoid the aimed stream just as it petered out, trying to put himself in a more upright position that left less of his body in a literal tub of piss. Whose house was this? Whose bathroom? _How the fuck did he get here?_ The last he remembered was-

 _The bus station. I was about to torch the hostages because the Asset didn't show up, but- shit, the rest doesn't make any sense._

Even without making sense, it didn't change the way his memory played out. He'd felt as if some phantom had given him a crushing heel to the dick, and by the time he'd recovered enough to start looking around he'd been confronted by some fucking _kid_ in a hooded coat and a mask looking down at him with his taser in-hand... and object he'd confirmed as being inside his jacket only moments before. How had that kid gotten it? And who the hell were they?

And why did they have to shock him _right in the nipple?_ That shit felt fucking raw, now.

"You wanna know what the fuck is wrong with _us?"_ The boy named Kyle snapped. " _You're_ the one who kidnapped our friends and this fat fuck!"

"Seriously, dude- you don't promise kids stardom and lead them out to your creepy serial killer van." Eric added, tucking himself away as he finished pissing, and then zipped his pants back up. "That's just fucked up. You're lucky Douchebag is so merciful; I would a left you for dead out in the snow if it were up to me."

"We're not _actually_ gonna toss him out there, are we?" Stan quested, looking maybe just a little... _uncomfortable_ with what was going on. "All the adults are out for blood..."

"And you're _not, dude?"_ Eric rounded on Stan, pointing a chubby finger in his face. "I coulda died in a fiery explosion tonight! _I_ coulda been _dead_! This son a bitch's life is fucking forfeit if you ask me!"

Kyle scoffed. "Sure, let's not even talk about Butters and Mysterion- _they're_ the reason the town is so pissed off."

"I'm just sayin', no one actually died- s-shouldn't we let the police take it from here?" Stan persisted.

"Buttlord has a plan." Kyle batted back. "This is in his hands, once he gets up here."

" _Buttlord?"_ Agent Russel questioned, shifting again in the puddle of piss that his ass was currently occupying. He felt as if he were going to need about six showers before he felt clean again, but that wasn't even the concern at the moment. He was captive, covered in piss, and it sounded as if the tables had turned against him in every possible way. "What are you morons talking about? Do you even know what you've _done? Assaulting_ a government official is the sort of shit that gets you tried as an adult in the court of law, and put away for life after getting your ass roasted by a high-powered lawyer that makes more per month than your _whole town_ does in a year. You little shits are gonna go away for _life_ when my people are done with you!"

"Wait- _wait-_ you're _actually_ from the government?" Eric's head and body jerked back to look at him, squinting for a second or two before muttered. "Jesus they hire young- no wonder you're so fucked in the head."

" _I'M THIRTY-EIGHT YOU STUPID FUCKS! I'M A FUCKING DWARF!"_

"I _told_ you!" Kyle declared to Eric. "I _told_ you he wasn't a kid! You didn't freakin' believe me!"

" _Dude,_ he thinks he's a dwarf- the poor guy is obviously _delusional."_ Eric responded flatly.

Kyle's jaw dropped slightly, no doubt about to correct Eric on what _dwarfism_ was, but the bathroom door opened. Heads turned, including Agent Russel's, to see who else was joining the party.

It was the kid from earlier- the one in the long coat and the mask. He entered the bathroom with clenched fists covered in purple gloves, heavy boots thudding on the tile floor. Behind him followed another boy in costume- the one who Russel had tased in the chest, who had called himself Mysterion.

"Everyone out." Mysterion directed the other boys, holding the door. "Buttlord needs a few minutes alone with this asshole."

" _What?"_ Eric demanded. "What the _fuck,_ dude, I wanted to see Buttlord kick the shit outta this sorry son of a-"

"He's going to talk to him." Mysterion batted back flatly.

" _Oh shit-_ I'm out- _I'm out!"_ Eric _fled_ the bathroom, his hands up as if he'd been bodily threatened. Stan and Kyle were following, although they were in far less of a hurry.

Stan waffled back, turning to Buttlord and looking at him pleadingly. "You're not going to throw him out to the mob, are you? We can just call the police, right?"

Buttlord silently stared back at Stan, cocking his head slightly beneath his hood. Despite having the majority of his face covered and not saying anything, Stan seemed to _get_ something from that stare.

"O-oh, I suppose calling the cops _would_ just be handing him over to the angry mob... _shit._ Why did you whip them up like that, Buttlord? They're gonna _kill_ him. Like. Legit. Draw and quarter, maybe even burn him alive!"

"He's got a plan, Stan." Mysterion said, still holding the door as Kyle waited in the open portal for his friend to follow him. "This fucker will get exactly what he deserves; no more, no less. Go downstairs; Butters is coming around. He's probably concussed; we need to keep him awake."

Stan still appeared unsure, shuffling his feet and pressing his lips together. He glanced between Mysterion and Buttlord, and then looked to Agent Russel once more. The kid read as _empathetic_ to him, the sort that would stop traffic to rescue a stray dog; his idea of himself as a _moral_ human being was important to him. _Guilt-driven._

"What's _wrong_ with you, kid? You're gonna let them _do this_ to me?" Agent Russel asked, letting his eyes go wide and raising his voice from angry to _fearful._ Maybe this fucking _bleeding-heart_ was his ticket out of this mess.

As he stared desperately at Stan, Agent Russel suddenly found himself knocked to one side as a fist plowed into his face, knocking him back down into the tub and the puddle of piss he was sitting in. "You don't get to _talk,_ asswhipe!" Mysterion barked, hand still clenched as he wound up for another strike, his other hand braced upon the edge of the tub for balance.

"C'mon Stan, let's go." Kyle interjected from the door, out of Russel's view. "They've got this."

There was another beat of hesitation, but then footsteps crossed the floor and the door shut. Agent Russel now found himself alone with not one but _two_ costumed teenagers who seemed entirely certain of their identities as vigilante heroes.

 _What the fuck is wrong with this town?_

" _Well?"_ Russel gruffly asked up towards Mysterion, who will appeared poised to hit him again. "What now? Is this an interrogation? You're not going to get anything from _me,_ I promise."

"We don't need to." Mysterion responded, reaching into the tub and, instead of whacking Russel again, yanking him by the front of his shirt so that he could sit upright once more. "If you _knew_ anything, you wouldn't have tried what you did tonight."

Buttlord approached at this point, standing at the edge of the tub and giving Mysterion a look. His face was tight beneath his mask; a flat line that threatened to frown but remained neutral by sheer force of will. Mysterion looked back at him, and Russel _caught_ something. A sort of comradery, the sense that these two had worked together many times before. Silent understanding was passed, and he felt as if he had another piece of the puzzle.

"You two!" He suddenly crowed. " _You've_ been protecting the Asset- that's why we've been having so much trouble capturing him- you _kids,_ playing at hero!"

"The _Asset?"_ Mysterion's own mask was of a different sort; it showed it when he _glared,_ and his expression soured into utter disgust. "That's a human being you're talking about, and he offered you a deal that your bosses didn't even _try_ to abide by. He tried to negotiate peace, and you fuckers acted like he'd laid himself down as a _doormat."_

"Good fucking- _you really are an idiot, aren't you?"_

Agent Russel couldn't believe these fucking kids- did they actually believe they had the power to resist a major operation? Everything so far had been small potatoes; two or three agents at a time, minimal equipment, discouragement of lethal force while they tried to nail down their target. Fucking _children_ didn't set terms with the US Government! Fucking _kids_ didn't have the ability to stand up to a hostile military takeover of their town if the President ordered it- and she most certainly _could._

"The Asset didn't make a deal with us, he _showed us an opening!_ He made contact with some _CDC bitch with delusions of grandeur_ who couldn't even get her own experiment to go right, and said _hey, look, here's a target on my back, but please don't shoot it because that would make me_ _ **really**_ _upset!_ What the _fuck_ did you _think_ was going to happen?! This is A-MURI-CA, and the President of the United States does not negotiate with _snot-nosed brats!"_

Agent Russel found himself knocked down into the tub again- this time from the other direction. The fist that plowed into his face was driven by anger, and powered by a surprising amount of strength for a teenager. He cried out when his head hit the edge of the tub, hissing through his teeth as stinging piss hit a split in his lip.

"... you sure you wanna be alone with this fucker?" Mysterion asked as Russel was left to right himself under his own power, wriggling about to get out of the disgusting waste he'd been made to sit in. "Hey, don't gimme that look- I remember what you did to Jared, is all. _Don't go overboard."_

He'd managed to get himself upright again just as Buttlord was nodding along to Mysterion's advice, making a motion with his hand that instructed his partner to leave the room. It was only at this point that Russel realized... the kid hadn't said a single word. Not earlier, when he'd attacked him at the bus stop, and not in this current encounter where he'd taken control of the situation... and all of his friends seemed _afraid_ to hear him speak.

 _Did this kid have legit powers? Was this more than children just **playing** at hero? _If that were the case, it meant there was more of interest in South Park than _just_ the 'Propaganda Factory'- as the Asset was nicknamed, who could get literally anything to go viral on the web by posting to social media. If there were other powered individuals protecting him, that made South Park a _hotspot..._

 _Shit, this is big._

Mysterion's exit lacked the reluctance of the other boys. He'd accepted Buttlord's conviction and left without further argument, shutting the door behind him. Once he was gone, Buttlord looked back to Russel with a look that could be best described as _murderous._ It was more than hate, more than anger, more than loathing; it was a true and real desire to _end_ him for everything he'd done on this particular evening. He felt it, like a spike of ice driven down the center of his brain, and it actually left him speechless for a second.

The kid broke eye-contact, reaching into the pockets of his long coat and drawing out a pair of phones- one of which Russel recognized as his own smartphone.

"Oh, what the _hell?_ What? You're gonna threaten my life and then try and get me to call my bosses and tell 'em to lay off? They're not gonna _listen_ to that, kid. I'm one agent in the field, I do as I'm _told,_ I don't make demands, and it's against policy to negotiate for hostages. The agency would leave me for dead and start the head-hunt for your friend."

The kid didn't look up at him. Instead, he was fussing with the other phone, which he could only assume was Buttlord's personal device. At first he felt as if the kid had checked out for a minute, maybe playing some Candy Crush or some shit and letting him _sweat it out_ for a bit. A _classic_ interrogation tactic, feigning disinterest and letting a subject suffer, but-

Suddenly the phone emitted a terrible noise. It was a squealing, glitchy thing; like someone had recorded mic feedback over a pig orgy and then corrupted several sections of the data. There were skips, warps, pitching up and down and traces of _voices_ that made no sense, all while the terrible shrieking drove into his ears like nails, making him grit his teeth while a headache bloomed in the middle of his brow.

"What the _shit_ was that?!" He shouted out as the sound ended, angry, in pain, and _annoyed._ What the fucking _hell_ did this little asshole thing he was playing at-?!

"I need your attention." Was his- _his?_ Was that a boy's voice? Maybe his balls hadn't dropped, yet. He was pretty small. _Yes,_ _ **his**_ _response._ Simple words, but Agent Russel found himself attentive in an instant. He had trouble noticing anything _other_ than this kid now, who placed their phone on the bathroom counter across from the tub and approached with his government-issued smartphone in a gloved hand. "What's going to happen is going to be your choice, Agent Russel, but I will not have you lying to me. Is that understood?"

 _How did he know my name? My phone is locked, it needs my fingerprint to open- shit, but I was out for a while._

" _Y-_ Yes." He answered, without thinking about it. It was like he wasn't himself, but instead a presence just outside himself, _watching_ this scene unfold. He wasn't aware of this piss he'd been sitting in, the wet and stinging sensation of his clothes soaked with slightly acidic and smelly waste. He'd forgotten about zip-tied hands, and the fact that he'd been taken captive by a bunch of teenagers. _The only important thing was to tell this boy the truth. Only the truth._

"Good." Buttlord responded flatly. "Outside this house is an angry mob- the members of which have been informed that you kidnapped three children by... well, you called him the _Asset._ It's been shared on Facebook, so here's guessing your bosses already know you've fucked up... and if you know a _single thing_ about South Park, you know that we take our mob violence pretty seriously. Right now, in return for what you tried to do to my friends, I could boot out outside and leave you to them, and you'd be lucky to see tomorrow."

 _Sounds like a bad fucking plan._ "... can't say I'm a fan of that idea."

" _I am."_ Buttlord snarled back, a flare of _rage_ breaking through a thin shell of calm he was wearing. It was lurking on his face, something that _burned_ and _bit._

Agent Russel swallowed hard, aware of a hot flush of sweat spreading over his person.

"That said, there's little _use_ in that, and I'm also a fan of efficiency- so here's option _B._ You call your boss, and tell them the Asset wants a meeting with the President herself. Bring the Secret Service, we don't care, but he gets to negotiate with her _directly._ In return, we call Sargent Harrison, and you leave this house in the back of a police car and get delivered straight to a cell- _alive."_

"A _meeting?"_ Russel blinked, unsure of what that would _do-_ but hey, if that was his ticket to stay alive, he'd take it. "Fuck it, sure, but there's no guarantee she'll come down here just because you messed with our plans again."

"We already had our own plans to get her to come to town- you're just acting as extra assurance." Buttlord returned flatly. "Before it was a gamble on whether or not she'd take the bait; now I'm confident she won't be able to ignore all the _intrigue."_ He approached and sat on the edge of the bath tub, showing that the phone in his hand was indeed Russel's phone, and it was unlocked. He was currently scrolling through his contacts list, no doubt scanning for any interesting or important-looking names. "Now, _do_ tell me the truth- do we have a deal? If I place a call to your superiors, you'll tell them _exactly_ what I've told you, no more, no less?"

The question was interesting. Russel was the sort to get tricky- a phone call was a great time to shout out some important extra information that might help his comrades when they came to pick up his mission... since it was clear he was in no position to continue. He'd be ducking into a jail cell and thanking the powers that be for concrete and bars. And yet, when it was asked, he felt as if he _had_ to say yes. It was instinctual, to agree to the deal, to _abide by it,_ _ **to keep his word and not make it a lie.**_

"We've got a deal, kid."

* * *

There was a great deal of relief that came when Agent Russel, as both his phone and computer had identified him as, did exactly as he agreed to do. Dee still had some worry about the use of priming noises; she'd only had so many successful experiments, and with such a small sample size there was always a chance that something would go sideways due to an unexpected factor... but it appeared she had him in the palm of her hand, reacting exactly as predicted.

Which meant she had one last command for the man after he'd finished delivering her message to the next person up the food chain.

He leaned back in the tub as the call ended, looking up at her. "So, when's my ride gonna be here?" He asked, an edge to his voice that was very aware that she might still choose to screw him and toss him to the angry mob... and _fuck if that wasn't tempting._ This _human waste of skin_ had kidnapped Butters and hurt him, and taken Mysterion captive. She wanted to beat him in the face with his own cellphone until he gained the ability to download and play apps.

But she knew full well what it felt like to kill someone... and even if she didn't do it, she knew it would be her fault. More than personal guilt; Stan wouldn't have it, it would probably _scare_ Butters, Kenny and Wendy would judge her for it, Kyle would regret it after it was over- truly, the only person who would approve of it would be _Cartman-_ and when Cartman was the only person who agreed with something, it was the wrong thing to do.

"Not long." She responded lowly, a quiet voice in a lower register trying to hold the _male_ illusion she projected. "Now, Agent Russel, I need you to _listen to me."_

She saw it- maybe his head had drifted off-center throughout their exchange, but he was back on her now. Looking up, focused, intent, _fully engaged._

It was disturbing that she could do that with nothing but a computer-generated noise and her own words. _Scary._

" _Forget everything you've learned in South Park."_

It was a new test of her abilities- a test of how far she could push a command, of what kind of things she could get a person to do... and, if it worked, it was a safety measure. If and when he got out of South Park's jail, either bailed out by his people or transferred out, she did not want _any_ of the information he'd gathered going with him to places unknown.

She had her family to protect, after all.

It seemed he didn't understand at first. He stared at her, his face going blank, blinking a couple times... and then his eyes lost focus.

Pupils widened to great black pools and his head lolled back, looking up at the ceiling as his jaw hung slack. She wasn't prepared for a physical reaction, but she also hadn't known was she was expecting in the first place- _fear_ snapped through her as she watched his eyes begin dashing back and forth, like REM but with his lids wide open. What the hell had she _done_ to the guy?

 _Fucking Satan sodomizing a teddy bear, did I break him?!_

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

 _Y'all thought it was the finale, but we're not quite done yet. :3_

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	15. Dee Gets Ahold Of Herself

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Dee Gets Ahold of Herself::**

It wasn't stopping.

Dee sat at the edge of the tub, watching Agent Russel for a full minute, but his condition didn't change. Eyes open, pupils jerking this way and that, muscles slack and his body left like a forgotten rag-doll in a pissed-in bathtub. He was still _breathing,_ for what it was worth, but the only words that came to her mind to describe his condition were _fucked up._

Standing up, she stared down at him for a few seconds.

In a snap decision, she slapped him across the face. Her open hand made a sharp _smack_ against his skin, and his head jerked away from the impact as his eyes closed. Then, after a few seconds, his head shook like a dog's with water in its ears, and he squirmed in the bath tub while fluttering lids tried to bring a room into focus that his, no doubt dried out, eyes were having trouble seeing. His head swayed this way, turned that way, he blinked some more, and then he looked up at Dee.

"... where am I?" He asked.

 _Excellent, you're cognizant. I'll take it._

She didn't respond to him, turning to leave the bathroom and taking both his and her own phone with her. He responded with confusion as she left him, crying out _"Wait, I don't understand!"_ as she shut the door behind her. Did she just cause some short term amnesia in a government agent? _Very possibly._ And now that she was assured that she hadn't _snapped_ his mind completely, she didn't feel all that bad about it. With the door shut and all of that taken care of, she marched down the stairs to find her friends congregated in the living room. Butters was upright on the couch, Kenny sitting next to him on the arm rest and Cartman occupying the rest of the space on that specific furnishing. Stan had taken a seat next to Wendy on the floor, peering over her shoulder as she was already hard at work on Agent Russel's laptop, and Kyle had taken a seat next to him.

"I'm just saying, don't _ethics_ have room for _context?"_ Kyle was arguing as she came down the stairs. "If everyone holds to specific moral and ethical rules, no matter what's been done to them, then that leaves room for a single person who's rejected the rules to undercut everyone else who's agreed to them- all it takes is _one_ opportunistic asshole to take advantage of everyone else who just assumes the average person is going to act in good faith. There _has_ to be room for the surrounding circumstances to matter!"

"But that same opportunistic asshole would take that and use it to justify _literally anything,_ Kyle." Kenny, still dressed as and speaking like Mysterion, responded, revealing himself to be Kyle's main interlocutor... though Cartman was determined to shoehorn himself into the conversation as well.

"Yeah, like jewing out people no matter how close they are to you."

" _Shuttup Cartman! You don't even know what ethics and morals are!"_ Kyle snapped. "You're the dumbass trying to trick girls into working for you for free so you can pocket babysitting money on Halloween- you are a _walking definition_ of unethical behavior!"

"Yeah, but it's okay because the girls are _fucking stupid enough_ to believe that I'm babysitting a buncha kids for nothin' but free candy. Besides, it's their natural instincts to look after kids, it's not like I'm makin' them do something they weren't _made_ for."

" _Excuse me?!"_ Wendy snapped from where she was sitting with Russel's laptop, having mostly been checked out of the conversation until this moment. Cartman's statement left her _aghast,_ looking like she might break out the Call Girl selfie stick and give him a proper beating with it.

"What, you want in on this sweet action, too, Wendy? I figured you and fuckin' _loverboy_ over there would be _busy_ on Halloween, but-"

"I want you to _think_ about what the hell you're saying, you fat, bigoted-"

" _Aaand_ I present to you; the _opportunistic asshole."_ Mysterion pointed out to Kyle, sweeping his hand like a presenter on a game show.

"Oh, jeez guys, aren't rules kinda the glue that keeps everything together?" Butters quested, just as Dee was reaching the bottom of the stairs- as of yet unnoticed by the main group. "That's what morals and ethics kinda are, right? Personal rules, ones you hold yourself to, and if you don't have any rules for yourself, then you might do somethin' to hurt people around ya, and then you're left all alone... communities are made outta people who gotta trust each other not to put the other guy in the toilet, so ya gotta have _some_ kind of internal standard, dontcha?"

Dee approached the couch, clearing her throat to get some kind of attention. Cartman, who was closest, turned his head and quickly _covered his ears._ "Jesus, _AssMaster,_ don't fuckin' sneak up on me like that!"

She stared down at him for a second, scoffing faintly with a roll of her eyes. _Yeah, I still like Buttlord better._

"How'd it go? Did he co-operate?" Mysterion asked from the far side of the couch, the rest of the group focusing in.

She nodded, tossing the agent's phone to Wendy for future examination.

"... do you think she'll come?" Wendy asked after catching it, adding it to the collection of active devices she kept on her bandolier as Call Girl.

 _Fairly confident, but we won't know until Halloween._ Buttlord managed a smile, but it was coupled up with a faint shrug that could say nothing for certain just yet.

"Huh? Who's gonna come?" Stan quested, showing that Wendy had kept him out of the loop.

"Sorry, Stan, the less people know about the details of the plan, the better chance it has of going well." Mysterion spoke before Wendy had to deny him- better _not_ to leave her on the hot seat where Stan was concerned. "Buttlord only told _us_ because we're directly involved."

"Wait, wait, you assholes have some _secret plan_ going on that involves thwarting the government and you didn't _tell **me?"**_ Cartman demanded.

Buttlord put a hand on his shoulder, leaning down next to Cartman and smirking with her face just a _little_ too close to his for comfort. _I can tell you, if you want~_

"Oh, _fuck, get OFF OF ME, DOUCHEBAG! I don't want to hear your fucking voice again for as long as I fucking live!"_

* * *

The police had come to collect Agent Russel and left again. It was like a secret prisoner transfer, as officers arrived in plain clothes and in unmarked vehicles as not to attract undue attention from a South Park mob in full murderous swing. Truly, they had no assurance that the police themselves wouldn't exact some kind of punishment on the man upstairs- it certainly _sounded_ like they hit him at least once before he was loaded up and the white compact vehicle containing him drove away.

Kenny had remained as everyone else left. Once the news got out that the police had the 'suspect' in custody and the main kid everyone was worried about, Butters, had been found, it was time for the _aftermath_ stage of things. An EMT arrived with Butters's parents hot on their heels, assessing that his condition was stable and sending the boy home with a father who _immediately_ grounded him for getting kidnapped. Cartman's mother was next, collecting her 'poor, sweet angel' and promising him sweeties for the stress he no doubt endured. Wendy and Stan excused themselves, leaving hand-in-hand, with Kyle bringing up the rear of the conga line that was seen departing from Dee's home.

In the other lane, her parents came back to the surprise that Mysterion was standing in their living room with their daughter, who was also in full costume _._

"Figures that you two would get all of this wrapped up in only a few hours." Dee's father commented as the door shut behind them. The expression both adults shared was _worn out-_ but relived. Dee's mother swept in to hug her daughter, squeezing her tight and lifting her slightly off of the ground.

" _Oh my goodness, I was so worried when I saw the video go up!"_ The chestnut-haired woman exclaimed. "I knew you had to be involved, but-!"

 _You should have woken me when the search party was gathering up. I could have reacted that much sooner._ Despite dry thoughts, Dee still squeezed her mother in return.

"And you!" A grateful bark of delight to see South Park's favorite hero present. "Can't say this was _expected,_ but... you're both alright, yeah?"

"Alive and kicking." Mysterion confirmed, in his rough tone- reminding Dee that her parents were as of yet unaware of just _who_ that hooded figure was. He'd only appeared at the house once or twice, but they were aware that their daughter _worked with him_ on the regular.

"Are you... helping to protect our kid?" Dad asked cautiously, as if unsure how to phrase it.

"I'm doing everything I can to ensure the plan is successful." Mysterion returned as Mom finally let go, releasing a well-squeezed Buttlord to stand next to her partner in citizen justice with a hood half-ruffled off of her head, curls of red hair springing free. "Speaking of, there's still some _clean up_ work that needs to be done. If you'll excuse us?"

" _Clean up?"_ Mom questioned, looking critically between the teenagers before her, a tense note in her voice gathering her motherly veto power before Dad put a hand on her shoulder. He seemed to be getting a vibe that mom wasn't.

"We'll let you two be." He assured, leading his wife upstairs.

"... basement?" Dee murmured lowly as her parents exited earshot.

* * *

There were multiple reasons to disappear into the lowest level of the house, first of which being to change out of costumes and back into street clothes. Kenny watched as his partner and girlfriend retrieved a key from her pocket that unlocked a cupboard under the stairs, producing his backpack from the space within and handing it over.

"You can duck under the landing where the beanbags are to change." She suggested to him, but she hadn't _looked_ at him since the night had begun to take on the feeling of being _over._ Kenny noticed this; Dee, who often turned towards anyone she interacted with so that she could speak with expressions rather than words, instead kept her head down and forward while holding his pack out for him to take with one hand, the other rifling in the dark space she'd opened up for her own clothes.

As he took his backpack from her, Kenny set it aside and stepped up to her instead, putting a hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

She stopped fiddling about, her hands stilling. He was pretty sure she'd just been flopping her sweater around on the self, doing a useless idle task while avoiding direct engagement. There was almost nothing else in there- it was just a way to _subtly ignore_ him without _looking_ like she was ignoring him.

"You okay?" He asked quietly.

He could count the beats, one, two, three.

"... are _you?"_ She asked, finally turning to look at him. The hard mask that went with the Buttlord costume didn't betray much, but her lips had gone tight underneath it. "I mean, you're _here,_ you're _standing, but..."_ She reached out, touching the scorch marks on his chest; a blackened reminder in the fabric that he could have very easily died tonight, and he had most certainly suffered. "I was _scared,_ and _angry,_ and I had something to focus on until about five minutes ago, and now the angry has nowhere to go and I'm just _scared._ He was here for a _weekend,_ and he went _straight for Butters,_ and managed to get _you,_ too. What if... what if I'm _underestimating them?_ What if the plan goes tits-up and shit gets even worse?"

"Worse than we've been through?" He mused, eyebrows rising up beneath the fabric mask of his own costume; one that betrayed a little bit more than hers, showed the shape of his eyes, the crinkle of his brow. "We've traveled through time, hopped dimensions, stopped multiple apocalypses- all in the last three years. And _now_ you're afraid?"

She blinked. Had she forgotten all that shit? He doubted she _could-_ even if collapsed timelines evaded memory their echos still came and went, and he knew she kept dream journals to log down the fragments and better put them in order. Maybe, like this fragments, she'd simply allowed those past successes to _slip through the cracks,_ evading her conscious mind until this moment when he reminded her.

"I don't know. It's... felt more _real_ lately. Like it's all building up to something bigger. I've had this sense, since the new school year started, that something is... _lurking,_ and I've gotta get it just right." She sighed softly, feet shuffling a little and withdrawing her hand from his chest where she'd been gingerly touching near the burn marks on his suit. "You're right. We've done crazier than this. _I've_ done crazier than this- but there's something crawling just beneath my skin that makes it all sit _wrong._ I can't... _I don't know how else to say it._ And then there's... _this. Us. This thing we're doing."_

 _This thing we're doing._ He let out a muffled snicker. "It's called _dating."_

"Is it?" She demanded, flipping back her hood now and opening her overcoat, shrugging it off and folding it up to tuck into the cupboard. "There's this _doorway_ I've been afraid to go through, and it just keeps _looming_ every time I look at you and _Jesus taint-tickling Christ_ I can't even _talk about this shit without getting worked up."_

She yanked her mask off with force, her hair springing up after the elastic band in a great tousled puff that she made no effort to tame while reaching into the closet for her big blue sweater... but she stopped before pulling it on. Standing there, only her nose barely poking out of the fluffy mass of curls, she held the blue hoodie against her stomach for a second before turning towards him again like a shaggy sheepdog in desperate need of a trimming. He was certain she was blind, but the look was kinda _cute,_ all things considered.

"You know what- you're right. This isn't like me. At all. I've gotten all _hesitant_ and shit, and it all started at the beginning of the year. And for what? A fucking... _premonition?_ Either shit is gonna _go down_ or it _won't,_ and _planning ain't my fucking speed._ Never has been. That why I leave the brainy shit to you and Wendy. Right? _Right!"_ She suddenly dropped her sweater, off on her own train of thought and shoveling coal into the engine to build up speed before Kenny even knew where she was going with it. "I hit stuff, I incite mob violence, and I rip ass! That's what I do!" Both hands went up to her forehead, pushing the blinding red mass back and out of her face, looking up at him with a _certainty_ he hadn't seen in her eyes for a long while. It made her eyes shine, enthusiasm and determination showing up with a brash smile. "I don't sweat the small shit, I don't worry about the fine details, and when something goes wrong, _I fucking roll with it._ That worked with the zombies, that worked when Canada got nuked, that worked when Mitch Conner ran for mayor, and if it _ain't broke, don't fucking fix it!_ Right?"

This time she asked the question to him, staring up with the sort of elation that came with sudden clarity. What had at first seemed like a tangent appeared to be some kind of affirmation, and he was left with a somewhat wide-eyed befuddlement as he realized she'd just said what he'd been saying, but in a great many more words.

"Uh... _right."_

And that's when it happened. She grinned as he agreed with her, and he found the loose fabric at the base of his hood grasped in her hands. She yanked him forward, and all at once he found himself nearly nose-to-nose with a girl who had, in recent weeks, had trouble looking him in the eye for more than a few seconds at a time without blushing and looking away. This moment was different; she met him head-on, the bashfulness nowhere to be found in her face, and a grin that relished life spread wide across her face.

A moment later, she kissed him right on the mouth.

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

WELL THAT JUST HAPPENED.

MYSTERIBUTT SAILS MOTHERFUCKERS

 _ONWARDS_

 _-Buttlord_


	16. Going Down To South Park

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Going Down to South Park::**

To say that the President of the United States got a monstrous amount of mentions and tags on various social media would be an understatement of horrific proportions- but that's why she had a staff to go through her notifications and let her know if anything _important_ or _interesting_ had come up out of the sea of meaningless noise and vile bullshit the internet generated on a near incomprehensible scale. Usually she had a list ready for viewing, waiting for her in the spare minutes in-between meetings and public-facing functions; it was _rare_ for a tweet or an mention to be important enough to interrupt her day.

And yet, here was one of her staffers, barging into the Oval office with a smartphone in hand, and a look of paralyzed shock on his face.

"Mrs. President, the situation could turn for the worst at any moment-"

"I understand."

Her voice was measured and cold. The general she was speaking to hadn't noticed her staffer yet, back turned to the door and too much of a dunce to realize it had opened. Most people were like that; stupid and slow. Even the staffer; who bounced behind the general in silence as if he were desperately busting for a piss, or very sincerely wanted to be elsewhere at that moment. If she were entirely frank with herself, she had wished death upon nearly every person in this building at least once. This particular general, many times more than that.

But she couldn't let that show. Pissing on the decorated hats of various stuffed shirts didn't get things done. She had better ways of going about things. With a breath, she interlaced her fingers into a unified arch and perched her chin atop them, looking up at the general who stared down at her with all expectation. Softly, firmly, she finally said to him; "I'll consider your request for authority, but for now we need to tread carefully. She still hasn't realized it's all a cover, and that we've been pulling her strings since the beginning. _Keep it that way._ Get her out of Atlanta if you can. Once we've gotten this other matter wrapped up, we can convince her that she should take a vacation, go somewhere sunny with _poor cell signal_ for a few weeks. Offer to pay all expenses. Dismissed."

"But Mrs. President, we can't just let her keep feeding infor-"

" _Dismissed."_

Her voice hardened on the second run, a sharp edge making the man standing at her desk snap to his tallest posture before giving a textbook salute. He turned on his heel, found the anxious staffer behind him, stared on in confusion for a moment and then passed the other man by on the way to the door. Meanwhile, the staffer approached with a smartphone which he held like an armed nuclear device; with ginger fingers that were eager to _not_ be holding the offending piece of technology.

"What do you have?" She quested of him, nearly _gentle_ in her tone. Calmly, she held out her hand, offering to take away the burden of this man who had interrupted her day. "Is it important?"

 _It had fucking better be for you to just barge in like that._

"T-The Asset, Mrs. President." The staffer stuttered out. "He- he mentioned you on Instragram, on four photos. It... appears that he's promoting a-... a-"

The man, really more of a _boy_ in a suit, gulped, failing to stutter the words out. Thankfully, she was able to access what she'd been mentioned in within a few moments.

"... a _fashion show."_

Eyebrows arched as she scrolled through a set of four photos, each of a different kid who was apparently modeling the fashions of one Bebe Stevens- whomever the hell _that_ was. A blond boy wore a blaze orange blouse over a back long-sleeve, with white gloves, black scarf, and black skinny jeans that did well to make him look rather _fox-like_ as he winked for the camera over freckled cheeks. A dark skinned girl posed in a powder-blue dress with matching ribbons in her hair, with turquoise leggings and white boots, caught mid-prance by the camera shutter. A boy with tightly curled red hair, appearing bashful to have his photo taken while sporting a navy turtleneck with a tan coat over the top, still managed a half-smile while hands stuffed into pockets beneath ash-brown patched shoulders. A final photo taken of a sweetly smiling girl with black hair dressed in an off-the-shoulder shirt that faded from black around the collar into lavender, a sort of vine pattern embroidered into the neckline, tucking a loose truss of hair behind her ear.

Each photo was first and foremost tagged with #dressrehersal and #southparkmiddleschool, but after that the tags got a little more... interesting. The boy who was dressed in fox-like colors had the tag #cometotheshow, which appeared innocuous by itself, but was immediately followed with #ifyouvegottheballsBITCH. Further antagonistic tags accompanied the African-American girl in her bright blue dress; #ballsinyourcourt, #POTUSeeyouthere, #comeandgetit and so on. She didn't even bother reading things in their entirety past that point- she understood the gist of it.

The Asset still wanted his meeting. It was only a few days ago that he'd somehow managed to compromise the agent she'd personally chosen to gather information in South Park, forced him to call his handler, and relay demands for a one-on-one meeting. What happened after that, she did not know- news reports said that Agent Russel had been given up to the police, but he was utterly delirious and claimed not to remember _anything,_ not even his own identity. How much of that was just newscasters pumping up the sensationalism of a story, and how much of that was true, she wasn't in the mood to guess at the time. The _insolence_ of a _child_ not only managing to capture her guy but force him to relay demands was _appalling_. There was temptation to go to South Park- not to give the kid his meeting but to begin the headhunt by taking over the town and imposing martial law until she had the little fucker's head on a pike.

But this? This showed more than just a flagrant disregard for authority. No, this was a _pointed statement,_ almost _ironic_ in relation to the job she'd asked this boy to do for her in the first place.

And at the 11th hour, no less- Halloween was tomorrow. The last day of October; when the Asset would either deliver or find themselves the victim of a president-ordered assassination.

"Interesting." She murmured aloud. " _Very interesting."_

A direct middle finger, but one that curled and said _come hither_ after proclaiming _fuck you._ And yet? She could see a possible _advantage_ in this latest move, a counter-move she could take that would turn the tables yet again and make her own point rather spectacularly.

"Mrs. President?" Timidly, the staffer quested for more than just her first remarks.

"Prepare the jet." She suddenly decided. "And clear my schedule for tomorrow."

"S-Sir?!"

She smiled, standing up from her desk. "Well? We were _invited-_ it would be _rude_ not to attend."

 _This kid is going to regret jerking **me** around._

* * *

Thursday.

The day of the show. Halloween. Dress rehearsal had been yesterday, a time at which Dee offered to photograph the whole show for Bebe, and took a few amateur shots on her phone camera to act as a little extra publicity for the event. Of course, said shots got a _monstrous_ number of likes and shares on Instagram, so much so that Bebe's show was even a minor news article on Good Morning South Park as it played on the TV in the background of her home on Thursday morning.

She was only half paying attention to it, sitting on the family couch and carefully arranging everything she needed with her for today before packing it into her schoolbag with no room to spare. There were her books, of course, which had already been tucked in as the solid base of her pack. Next came the specific clothes she'd be wearing under her Halloween costume at the end of this day, assuming all went according to plan and she was able to go trick-or-treating with Kenny and Karen- Kenny had the rest of her effects at his house. Placed atop of that was an excess of granola bars, as well as her medication; she had no intent on coming home after school, so it was important to have both something to eat as well as the pills that allowed her to rip ass hard enough to tare holes in time and space... she never knew when she might need to pause time, or take a do-over.

Did she have everything?

Did anyone feel fully prepared on a day that could decide the course of the rest of their life?

She let it go, zipping up the pack and standing it upright on the table, it's solid mass easily sitting the way she set it and allowing her to wander into the kitchen without fear of it falling over. The house was empty- _terrifyingly so._ Mom and Dad had already left, both of them packing bags similar to her own, bags that did not expect to come home as they usually did... only they would be gone until after the weekend, to be certain that the dust had settled. She'd not see them until Monday, and the kitchen was covered in post-it notes from dad. Some were simple things, reminding her that she would be okay, things no doubt penned by a man who was trying to reassure himself of the same thing. Others were recipes, directions on how to take food already in the house and turn it into good meals for herself. Still others were _Please do the dishes,_ and _if you're going to have a party, try not to wreck the house._

Among this scatter-shot of passive-aggressive affection, she found a notebook on the counter next to the coffee machine which had a short letter written upon it. The script was different. Dad wrote in block letters, as if his hand were stuck in caps lock. Mom, on the other hand, wrote in a smooth and looping font... and that was most certainly _her_ handwriting.

 _Alyssa,_

 _I'm sorry your father and I left without waking you, but we were worried we might have a moment of weakness and tell you where we're going. If I'm completely honest, I contemplated taking you with us this morning... but you've made a plan, and it would be unfair to you if I didn't let you try. Your father is right. I've been too focused on safety to care about living. Too afraid to give the real world a chance to reassert itself and remind me it's not such a bad world after all. You've grown into a strong young woman. Maybe stronger than I actually know. But no matter how strong you get, you will always be my little girl. I'm always going to worry about you. I hope you can forgive me for all the times that worry has gotten in the way of seeing just how capable you are._

 _I love you. See you on Monday._

 _-Mom_

 _P.S. Try not to go too crazy while you've got the house to yourself._

The letter was something that made her feel like she might very well cry before she took off for the bus stop to meet up with her friends. She had to stare at it for a few minutes, blinking away possible tears as her cheeks warmed. Looking around, she realized that dad's post-it notes were pretty much exactly the same, just in his own style; both of her parents, leaving behind signs that they loved her dearly- that she wasn't just a danger and a burden that caused them nothing but worry and anguish. _She was their daughter._

She ripped the page out of the notebook, and glanced around the kitchen before selecting a bright pink post-it with a recipe for from-scratch cinnamon rolls on it. Sticking the post-it on the letter, she folded the notebook page around it as if it were an envelope, and tucked the new square of paper into the pocket of her over-sized blue hoodie before leaving the kitchen, flicking the light off as she went.

* * *

 _Where?_

 _Where, who, when, how, **why?**_

… _why?_

 _Wasn't it my job? Wasn't it? I think it was._

 _I? Who? Me? I?_

 _ **Who am I?**_

"Russel? _Agent_ Russel? Are you still with us, or did you wander off again?"

 _Impertinent fool!_

Teeth gritted together. They felt real. His hands, clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. They felt real. The burning frustrationthat coursed through his body and made his temples throb- _that certainly felt real._

 _ **That name didn't feel real.**_

" _Goddamnit,_ we're not getting anywhere with this guy! Are we sure the medical examiner wasn't full of it? No head trauma? _Nothing?"_

"Sorry, sir; the report was pretty clear. He suffered a taser shock to the chest, minor burns from that, a nasty rash from sitting in piss for more than an hour, and some blunt force trauma to the ribs and back from when we brought him in. That's it."

"I knew The Farting Vigilante could be a vicious customer, but he's never given someone to us like _this_ before. He's delirious! At least the others have enough brain cells left to _deny_ what they've done before we lock 'em up. This idiot isn't even _talking!_ It takes all the fun outta interrogation."

"The medical examiner said all we could do was give him time, Harrison."

" _Damnit-_ you're a real pain in the ass, you know that Agent Russel?"

 _Who is that? **Who is Agent Russel?**_

 _Is that me? Am I Agent Russel?_

 _I don't feel like an agent. I feel like an animal. Caged up. Trapped. Metal tight around my wrists. It burns. It stings. They're too tight. **It's all too tight.**_

The anger was gone. He'd lost it to the mist; confusion clouded him and he lifted a sagging head that hung from rounded shoulders. Hazel eyes blinked up at the man called Harrison; who looked and sounded by all accounts to be a _self-important douche._ He was the real pain in the ass. Was he the one responsible? _Is he the reason I'm here?_

 _I. Me._ _ **Who am I?**_

It didn't make any sense. It couldn't make any sense. It tried and tried and tried, but failed in the same manner that a sphere failed to be a cube. Something had been _removed,_ shaved off, the corners of some understanding rounded down until it could no longer be understood. What was once a block that could fit easily into a specific slot in his brain was now a ball, rolling free and slipping his grasp every time he attempted to fix it in place.

"Alright, let's take it from the top." Harrison sighed, clearly lacking interest in doing just that. He was _bored. Resentful._ He didn't like what he was doing. No, no, he was a man of action, that much was clear. _Stupid, self-righteous and self-directed_ action. The sort that didn't follow rules. Hated the rules. Resented the rules. _I make the rules,_ his face said. The king in his castle, certain of his power, encouraged in his ways.

"Hey, hey, you paying attention?!" Harrison's fingers suddenly appeared in view, snapping twice between dull hazel eyes that looked as much _through_ the man across the metal table as they did _at_ him. The snapping caused blinking, and a pulling back of a head that hung loosely atop a spine that may have been held together by shoestrings for the way it felt wobbly between each vertebra.

 _Don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't-_

" _... don't."_

"He _speaks!"_ Harrison exclaimed with sarcasm. "Welcome back, spaceman. Think you can answer some questions, now?"

 _I have nothing but questions. I need answers. Something is wrong. Someone did something to me._

Lips pressed together, and haze eyes instead glanced around. When did he get here? This wasn't where he'd slept. No, that room had been a holding cell with a dozen other people in it and only a single bench to sit on. This place was a closed room with a table, chairs, and a big mirror on one wall. _A mirror? No, two-way glass. Someone could be watching. Multiple someones._ Aside from that, the rest of the room was spartan; blank walls, bland carpeting, leaving only the two men across the table as the only objects worth interest. There was Harrison, glaring at him seriously as if he'd pissed in his Styrofoam coffee cup, and another man- _agent?_ _ **Officer. Officer of the law. SPPD. SP?**_ _What's SP? Where am I? What city am I in? What state?_

 _I can still smell the piss. Soaked into my clothes. It still stings. It itches._

"... someone told me to forget."

 _ **Forget everything you've learned in South Park.**_

Words carried pain; blinding, terrible, burning, white-hot agony that vitrified his brain inside his skull and made him suddenly bend over, dashing his brow on the metal table. He cried out, yanking against metal cuffs and making them bite even harder into his wrists.

 _Forget, forget, forget, forget, **forget-**_

 _Where, who, when, how, **why?**_

 _ **Why forget?**_

A single blow didn't seem enough. His head lifted, and then crashed into the metal table again. And again. It throbbed in time with his poor, pained brain.

"What the hell-!? Wesson, get him up! He's gonna kill himself before we get a confession outta 'im!"

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

And you all thought I was being merciful to Agent Russel by not having him thrown to the mob. :3 I yet have a role for him to play. This story isn't over. In fact, I would say we are just entering the third act.

And since I know y'all are prolly still trying to guess who the hell I made president, I'll say this much; I don't believe she's ever appeared in South Park. If she has, she doesn't have a page in the SP wiki. But! She is a real person, not a character I made up from scratch.

I will say that her _father_ has appeared in South Park.

Okay, enough teasing. BTW, if you haven't checked out my Tumblr yet, I really recommend it. I recently finished a new piece of artwork of what it might look like it Buttlord teamed up with Professor Chaos on the villainous side of things. :3

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	17. Paying Homage in Stained Robes

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Paying Homage in Stained Robes::**

" _Waddya mean you can't go?"_

Clustered together in the lunch-line, Butters found himself on the trailing edge of Eric's group. Kenny and Dee were together at the rear, as had been customary since Dee started hanging out with their group as far as he knew- a sort of pecking order that Eric instated that had his social group in the lunch line his what he felt was _order of importance..._ which meant he was always first, and Kyle was nearly always second. Kyle and Stan were almost impossible to separate, so Kenny stood behind them. While these positions could and had mixed and matched over the years, with even himself thrown into the mix, there was one fact that never changed; Dee was always at the end, denoted as _least important_ unless he decided not to wait with them in line... an occurrence that was more common than not until a couple weeks ago, when he and Kenny started _secretly_ seeing each other.

Butters found himself tagging himself onto the back of their group more and more often since he found out, if only because it made him happy to see them together. He just found it so darn _cute._ Today, however, he'd done so to share bad news- that he wouldn't be allowed to model for Bebe's fashion show.

"Well, I'm still grounded fer gettin' kidnapped, ya see?" Butters responded to Kenny, his hand stuffed in his pockets as he looked down, relaying the latest injustice put upon him by his _insanely strict_ parents. "My dad's gonna pick me up after school so I don't try to get any smart ideas, like the _terrible little boy I am."_

" _Hey, don't say that shit. You're a good guy."_ Kenny refused to allow his self-depreciation go unchecked. _"Your dad is just a vagina-sniffing dickwad."_

"He's just tryin' to raise me right." Butters defended as the line moved up far enough for the group to begin retrieving trays one by one. Unlike the elementary school, which had a single line for a single menu, the middle school boasted a line that split off in three directions- a _fries_ line that always featured a burger of some kind and french fries, a _pizza_ line which allowed kids to get their daily allotment of grease with a token salad, and then the _other_ line, which featured anything from chicken nuggets to french toast sticks, depending on the day of the week. As most kids did, their group entirely opted for the fries line- today's offering was _spicy chicken,_ which meant the condiment dispensers at the end of the line would also be featuring BBQ sauce. "I'm sore about not bein' able to go, though; I was really excited to get up on the runway and _strut my stuff."_

" _That's not fuckin' fair, dude."_ Kenny held his point, grumbling through his muffler. _"If you don't come to the show, you won't get your invitation to the party the next day- Bebe's only giving invitations to models who make it to the show."_

"It's just as well." Butters sighed, holding his tray up under the sneeze guard to get his serving of crispy french fries and cheaply made burger, an apple retrieved with tongs as the mandatory fruit/veggie offering on this line. "I'd still be grounded."

 _I hate being grounded._

A large, silver, open cooler was where the three lines re-converged; where students could grab their choice of milk, coming in skim, 2%, chocolate, and strawberry varieties. Butters always got strawberry- he noticed that Dee appeared to be a 2% fan... or at least more of a fan of 2% than everything else on offer, and Kenny opted for chocolate. It was the last stop before a staff member manning a computer asked each student for a lunch number attached to their account, either debiting the right amount from their lunch account or notifying the staffer that the student got free or discounted lunch, as it was in Kenny's case. Relaying numbers impeded conversation, but it resumed as the trailing trio stopped at the condiment bench to add BBQ to their burgers and ketchup to their fries.

It was there that Dee and Kenny exchanged a _look,_ as they often did. Dee had been in a somber mood- most others didn't pick up on it, because he didn't talk, but Butters had begun to notice the difference between Dee _listening_ and Dee _spacing_. He didn't just _not talk,_ he'd _not engage-_ staring off into the unknown and going completely dead in the face. Seeing him 'wake up' made Butters curious; had he come back down to earth just because he was once again restricted to his home after school? The pair of Dee and Kenny studied one another silently for a few seconds, and then Dee put his head back down while putting sauce on his burger.

" _We could sneak you out of your house to go to the party, dude."_ Kenny offered, having already decorated his tray and moving just beyond the bench to make room for the procession of students that were emerging continuously from the lunch line. _"Screw your dad's bullshit- after what you've been through, you deserve to go to a party."_

"S-Sneak out?!" Butters nearly squealed, frozen in place for a few seconds.

"Hey, keep it moving." A stern, mildly nasal voice said behind him. A slight twist of his head revealed that Craig was waiting for his turn at the condiment bench, Tweek right behind him.

"S-sorry!" Butters exclaimed, getting a quick squirt of ketchup and following after Kenny and Dee to join them at their table with Eric and the others. When he caught up, the pair slowed down so that they could fall into step with one-another whilst crossing the lunch room with Butters between them rather than skittering behind them. "I... I donno, Kenny, I don't think I can... and besides, I won't have an invitation- that would make me a party-crasher!"

"Party-crasher?"

Arrival at the table caused Eric to perk up, though he also seemed to _eye_ Dee suspiciously as they had a seat. "Whose crashing what party?" He asked, hands occupied with a burger that was already half-gone.

" _Bebe's having a party the day after the show, but Butters is grounded, so he can't do the show or go to the party."_ Kenny explained before unraveling his scarf from his face, grabbing a number of fries and dragging them through a puddle of red ketchup before chomping away.

"That sucks, dude." Stan frowned. "What did your dad ground you for?"

"Gettin' kidnapped." Butters sighed, ducking his head down. Really, how could he let that happen? He just _had_ to trust the new boy, assume the best about him, and he went and put himself in another dangerous situation and made his parents worry. _His father only punished him because he was so worried._

"What?" Kyle quested. "That's _dumb._ It's not your fault you got abducted but a shady-ass government agent."

"You should _totally_ crash Bebe's party." Cartman encouraged as the final bite of his burger disappeared in a single monstrous snap of his teeth, nothing left of it but some crumbs that he didn't bother to brush away before digging into his fries. "Chicks dig a rebel, Butters."

"B-but I won't have an invitation if I don't model at the show!" Butters proclaimed, unwilling to move from that thought as his burger and fries went untouched. "If the party is for the models, I don't wanna ruin everybody's celebration of a job well done when I didn't do nothin'. I didn't earn it. That and... _Bebe's kinda scary when she's mad."_

"Wait a second- Dee, do you still have your invitation with you?"

"What, Douchebag already has an invite? What the _fuck,_ dude, did you lick her puss or some shit?!" Eric demanded.

Dee appeared to ignore Eric, reaching into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and producing a square of card stock with a black and orange lace pattern on the edges, with a happy pumpkin and a bat on the front, along with shiny, orange cursive lettering that proclaimed that _You're Invited!._ This card was handed over to Kenny, who flipped it over and eyed the back, where lines of smaller black lettering spelled out the details of when, where, who to call or text to RSVP, and- "Here it is- if you're invited, you're welcome to bring a plus-one. See, Butters, you don't need your own invitation- one of us can just bring you in as our plus-one."

" _B-but..."_

The idea of sneaking out was... _attractive._ To buck his father's rule and go out anyway, enjoy himself, be with his friends; but it was also _scary._ If he got caught, he'd be in even _bigger_ trouble.

"You're gonna bring Butters as your plus-one, Douchebag?" Eric demanded. "That is _so_ gay. Why don't you just suck his balls on the freakin' lunch table? _Really_ ruin my lunch; you might as well go all the way."

"Shuttup, fatso!" Kyle snapped. "You are such a homophobic asshole!"

" _Wrong, Keyl!"_ Eric proclaimed. "I'm not _afraid_ of the gays, I'm _disgusted_ by them- there's a difference."

"That's what homophobic means, you moron!"

"Whateva, Kyle, I'm just saying Douchebag and Butters are bein' fuckin' faggots and it's ruining my lunch."

" _You've already finished your lunch!"_

Butters let out a muted groan, ducking his head a little as the bickering between Kyle and Eric continued. It was so common that it could be tuned out as he finally busied himself with eating, feeling _beside himself_ as he bit into his sauce-less burger. He'd meant to get some, but Craig had been behind him, and he hadn't wanted to hold up the line long enough to take the top off of the burger, squirt sauce on the fried chicken patty, _and_ get ketchup... so he'd settled for just ketchup. Was he always doing that? _Settling?_ Getting only part or maybe even none of what he wanted? It was only polite to move up when someone was waiting, but sometimes he wondered if his desire to be _good_ and _nice_ were, in fact, the reason he often ended up without the things he was after.

Was it his attempts to be _good_ that always left him disappointed and sore?

From his left, he felt a nudge- Dee, giving him a bit of a poke. Blinking, he turned his head to peer at him... and got a smile in return. It was one of Dee's _looks,_ one that said something.

 _Don't worry,_ is what that face told him. _We'll go together._

He blinked, hurriedly looking down as he felt his cheeks warm. _That's right._ He told himself. _That's at least one good deed that isn't punishing me._

" _THAT!"_ Eric roared. _"THAT is what I'm talking about- right there!_ Damn _faggoty ass behavior_ from two _ass-licking, dick-sucking **homos!"**_

Eric's last word was punctuated by a slam of his fist on the table, one that was hard enough to make the table _jump_ a little just as Dee had been leaning back to take his tray up to the garbage cans and do away with his leftovers. The bounce hadn't been a big one, but it was enough to rattle his tray from his hands and make him pause for balance at the edge of his seat. The tray, and what was left of his meal, tipped into his lap before it was caught by quick hands. As the tray was returned to the appropriate position, it was revealed that a smudge of BBQ sauce ended up on his hoodie; a fact that made Dee grimace before _glaring_ at Eric with burning ferocity.

" _Dude,_ that stuff stains so bad." Stan observed. "I'll get your tray, go try to wash it off."

Dee didn't hesitate, leaving the un-bussed tray behind to hurry off to the bathroom in an attempt to clean his favorite hoodie. As he vacated his spot, Kenny turned especially _angry_ eyes on Eric.

" _What?"_ Eric asked, shrugging it off. "He deserved it, dude- that kid's got the _biggest_ boner for me, it's kinda sad. Did I tell you guys that he visited me in the hospital?"

" _Probably because he was considering smothering you with a pillow."_ Kyle murmured as Stan got up to deal with the empty tray that Dee had left behind.

"You wish, _Keyl."_ Eric scoffed. "I mean it, that kid is _obsessed_ with me- not that I _blame_ him. I mean, _really,_ who isn't just a little obsessed with me?"

" _Present and accounted for."_ Kenny snarled, his scarf once again secured about his face.

* * *

The stain wasn't coming out.

Dee had spent at least a minute in the boy's bathroom, vigorously scrubbing at her hoodie with water and paper towels dabbed in hand soap, but the brown-red stain appeared to be here to stay. On any other day it would just _annoy_ her, but on today in particular it made her _livid_ at Cartman. That _asshole_ had no idea what was coming later in the day, and him and his temper tantrums were just the fuckin' _shit on the sundae_ that made her life complete.

At the same time, it wasn't worth the undo. It was _just_ a stain, after all. She'd been wearing this gigantic hoodie, this _specific_ gigantic hoodie, for _years._ It was bound to get some staining on it eventually. Maybe it was just a matter of time- and the stain itself sorta became a character mark. A odd splotch on her right side of the kangaroo pocket that was shaped somewhat like a rabbit's head if she cocked her gaze and looked at it just the right way. She'd let it be, and move on.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she found herself suddenly confronted. There had been someone standing outside, not as if they'd been waiting to get in, but waiting for her to _come out._

Bebe. She'd come to school with her hair carefully tamed so that curly ringlets of blonde hair perfectly framed her face, striking red lipstick paired off with blue eye-shadow that blended up into silver and made her eyes sparkle. She was, in a world, _beautiful-_ and the fact that she still managed to look that way _after_ gym class was sorta amazing.

Then again, she also looked _pissed._ Those gorgeous aqua eyes had turned dark beneath a glaring brow, her arms crossed over her blossoming chest as her lips twisted into a thin and humorless line.

"You lied to me!" She proclaimed, without even so much as a hello as Dee exited the boy's bathroom. It appeared no one else was nearby, this little section of the hallway leading back into the main school deserted as kids were still enjoying their meal time and the social aspect that went with it. "You and Kenny- you _both_ lied to me! You told me that _Steve_ asshole was a stalker from your childhood, and instead- instead he's some _government agent?!"_

Bebe's voice was shrill and _loud._ Despite the lack of kids in this area, it was only a matter of time before she attracted attention. Dee put her hands up in a posture of defense, ducking her head down as her face twisted. Teeth showed in a grimace as brows pressed down and in to create a look of true and genuine regret. _It's not like we could have told you without putting you in danger!_

"Don't give me that look!" She snarled. "I gave you a couple days to give you the chance to come to _me_ and come clean, but I guess you think I'm just a _stupid girl_ who wouldn't put the facts together after news of the kidnappings hit? _I'm not a bimbo! I'm not an airhead!_ You don't get to _lie_ to me and not suffer some kind of _consequence!"_

 _Oh shit._

All at once, Dee humbled herself. She quite literally dropped to her knees and put her hands together, as if she were paying honor to a goddess rather than asking forgiveness from a girl. Wide eyes stared up at her, jaw gritted tight as she tried her utmost to convey the sincerity of her apology through nothing but her face.

 _It slipped my mind, I'm sorry, please do not kick me from the show. **I need to be there.**_

The sudden action seemed to take Bebe aback, looking down a second with raised brows before her expression smoothed. She was still upset, but not quite so _viciously._ She sighed, arms shifting as they uncrossed from her chest. Her hands relocated to her hips, and her stance widened into a power pose as she bent with a straight back to peer down at Dee like a queen did a humble subject. "Alright, _alright-_ but I expect an explanation if you still expect to go to my party- _got it?_ I... I invited you because I think you're really _cool._ Lying isn't cool. You're gonna have to make it up to me, understand?"

 _Understood, your merciful eminence._

Dee didn't get up off of the floor until Bebe had turned and walked away.

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Alyssa _continuing_ to be a pansexual disaster.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	18. Arrival

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda - Arrival::**

 _Where?_

The scenery had changed. Spartan interrogation room had been replaced by a spartan cell- made more so by utter _isolation_ within it. Other people who'd been there before, where had they gone? He didn't know, didn't necessarily _care,_ but it was something external. Things outside him made more sense, were less painful to examine- but all objects of interest had been removed. Cinder-block walls and iron bars were all that remained for him to cast hazel eyes over, and those held interest for only seconds before new questions entered into his hazy mind.

 _Where? When? Why? Who? How?_

 _ **How?**_

 _ **How did I end up here?**_

The smell of urine was in his nose. It seemed familiar. Had it been there before? Ghosts of recollection folded over one another, intensifying the sensory idea of acrid piss before it faded away into a mottled void that ate as much as it produced. Maybe it was a process of _digestion,_ a sort of _mental cannibalism_ that chewed upon his thoughts and spat back out the liquefied remains- unrecognizable and beyond utility.

 _Kill the monster. Let it eat no more._

"You ready to go, _Agent?"_

A hostile voice, oh-so-arrogant. Hazel eyes turned, stared, blinked. Who was that man? Red hair, stocky, _cocky as hell_ with his hands on his hips. His uniform said police force. Had they met before? A bubble in the _goo_ might have recalled, but to poke it was to burst it, and the burning bile made sparks run across his brain in a hissing, agonizing splatter.

" _Goddamnit,_ spaced, _again?_ Come on in. This bastard isn't gonna be any trouble."

"Shouldn't you go in and cuff him, first?"

Another man entered into view through the bars of the cell door, dressed in a white uniform. Medical. EMT?

"Son of a bitch is practically in a coma, I don't see much of a point." The redheaded man responded, both affronted and _bored._ "That's why we're giving him to you guys for a psyche eval- he's got enough screws loose that the lid has _fallen off."_

"I'm not taking him until he's restrained, Harrison." Refused the medical man. "My people have a straight jacket for him at the hospital, but for the transfer I really need to insist on cuffs. He doesn't leave your care until you sign him over into the hospital's custody- _now deal with it."_

" _God,_ fuckin' pushy- what, you got blue balls? Wife isn't putting out?"

" _Fuck you, Harrison."_

"Okay, okay, I'm moving."

The noise of the cell door opening was a grinding terror on the ears ending in a jolting _bang!,_ followed by the epitome of arrogance stepping into the cell and sliding the barrier closed behind him.

Hazel eyes continued to stare. Blankly. Blindly.

 _ **Kill me.**_

 _Death. Murder. Elimination. Eliminate the monster? Eliminate oneself? **Eliminate the command.**_

"... the Asset."

His head rocked backwards as Harrison approached, unfurling a set of silver cuffs to go on over red marks that remained from the last time he'd been wearing them. At dull speech, however, he was given pause and took a turn to be the one who _stared,_ blinking and halting a step away. "Eh? What, you're suddenly talking?"

 _Commanded to secure the Asset, commanded to tighten the screws, **commanded to forget- forgetforgetforgetFORGET**_

Forward. The momentum took more than his head, it followed into his body, and brought short stubby legs to straighten as he landed his feet upon the floor. He looked up, up at Harrison, and found the main in _shock_ at the sudden movement, the sudden _agency._ They didn't meet eyes, however, for he had no eyes for Harrison.

 _Harrison's gun,_ on the other hand? That was a prize, left unguarded in dumbfounded, stupid, gaping-mouthed shock. It was there, in the holster just under his arm, without even a coat to protect it. Was there even a strap securing it? No, no, _stupid cocky men always like to have their guns quickly at hand._

 _ **Kill the command. Murder the monster.**_

 _ **Forget**_

* * *

" _Hey, kid!_ What are you doing?!"

Dee glanced up when yelled at, eyebrows locating somewhere beneath the bushy floof of her bangs as she found herself accosted by a pair of... journalists? Indeed. Well, she supposed she couldn't be terribly surprised- she _had_ promoted Bebe's fashion show on Instragram, after all. While that stunt was aimed directly at the President, it had attracted _plenty_ others to the humble venue of the school gymnasium to pay witness to the Fall Fashion Show. Every person who passed through either set of double doors leading into the gym from the cafeteria paid the nominal five dollar free, and those door fees were very quickly turning the school, and the fashion club, a tidy profit that no doubt would entrench this event as an annual ritual for years to come... _particularly_ if it was getting local news coverage.

Both people before her were grown-ass men, whom she did not recognize as parents. They both had cameras, and media badges hung around their necks as if it made them VIPs. They'd pushed through the beginnings of a milling crowd to get to the spot right at the end of the catwalk... which was really just several sets of risers with a bunch of orange and black sheets draped over them.

Dee stared blankly up at the two men, blinking slowly. _Can I fucking help you?_

"You've got a lotta nerve, kid, trying to take the best spot- don't you know this spot is where reports get to be? It's where you get the best photos!" One man barked at her. She observed that he was intensely blond, enough so that she could assume said blondness was the result of a salon and not genetics.

"What the fuck you got there? A fuckin' _selfie stick?_ Were you gonna try to selfie with the models during the show?" The other man demanded, rounder and red in the face, with black hair shaved closely to his head to cover for the fact that he was balding.

Indeed, she did have Wendy's selfie stick- on-loan from the Call Girl costume for it's dependency both for taking selfies and as a blunt force weapon.

"Get the hell outta the way, we've got a duty to the public to get the best pictures of this hot new fashion line!" The blondie declared.

 _I don't think so._

A free hand tugged at a yellow lanyard that Dee was wearing- one that had a laminated card hanging from the end that she held out for the media men to read. The cherry-faced cue-ball leaned in, squinting at it with a sour expression and reading the text on it aloud. _"Official Show Photographer?_ What? That's _bullshit,_ any kid could just make up a pass like that and steal the best seat!"

"Is there a _problem_ here, boys?"

Dee, as well as her belligerent interlocutors, turned and tilted heads to look _up,_ up to the stage where one Bebe Stevens stood at the very end. She'd been done up to the last, with her hair freshly tamed into cascading, shining blonde curls and bold red lipstick making her confident smile a thing impossible to miss. She wore a red mini-dress over black tights, a set of black pumps completing the look and making her look like fabulous hell on heels with her arms crossed over her chest.

Upon seeing her, both journalists took a step back. "M-Miss. Stevens! Hello!" The balding man squawked, taken by surprise.

"Is there a problem?" She repeated tersely. "I believe I set up plenty of media seats along the length of the runway, gentlemen. This space is for my _hand-picked_ photographer."

 _See also; faithful lackey._

" _W-_ With a selfie stick?" Bleached blond asshat questioned, though he'd lost all of his self-assured fire.

"That's his style." Bebe responded without an ounce of doubt. "He's going to be Instagramming the whole show- and if you get in his way, you'll both be on your way out of her without a refund. _Understood_?"

"Y-yes Miss. Stevens!" Chrome-dome with a side of peach fuzz near-squealed, taking on a posture as if he'd had a wooden dowel shoved up his ass so far he might cough splinters.

"Then find your seats." She encouraged icily. "House lights are going down in five, and I have _no_ patience for delays. I've got kids back here who have siblings to go trick or treating with, and if you idiots hold a single one of them up, you'll be buying candy for them until _their_ children are trick-or-treating."

 _Good fucking God Bebe, my hypothetical dick can only get so erect._

The two men dispersed on that note, hurrying off to either side of the stage to find a more appropriate spot. This left Bebe at the end of the stage, taking a moment to look up at the Gym and the way it had been set up for her show; with rows of folding chairs arranged around the runway. All the way back, where the runway began, a perpendicular wall had been erected for the models to hide behind; both for make-up and for changing outfits in-between walks. At that very moment everyone was busy with the last second touches, and a distinct _buzz_ was going through the air as kids and parents found their seats.

"Everything good here?" Bebe asked, her gaze returning back down to Dee, who stared up at her with a smile she didn't know she was wearing.

Her response was a thumbs up- she'd just been finding the right low-angle shot for capturing both her face and the end of the runway in the same photo. This wasn't like the promo for the show, where she'd only photographed the subjects to put her strange power behind them and make sure they'd grab the President's attention. No, this time _her_ face would be in the photos, too. She'd learned over time that not only did her face make her image-posts more potent online, it also conveyed an amount of _endorsement._ That's how Mitch Conner got elected after forcing her to selfie with people wearing his stupid merch years ago. This time around? She was throwing her weight behind something she actually approved of.

Looking down, she centered the selfie stick and looked back up at Bebe. _Wanna take a test shot?_

"Huh? Oh, sure! I could use a little fun; the nerves are actually _killing_ me."

Bebe came to the very edge of the runway, bending a little and putting her hands on her knees, smiling down at the camera which Dee positioned very nearly on the floor with the use of the stick. She held it steady, giving a moment as Bebe put on a winning smile, and then snapped the photo.

"Nice!" Bebe cheered. "Put a warm filter on it, huh? Something for enthusiasm."

* * *

When the main lights in the gym went down, it was revealed that the stage had been rigged with lighting by way of orange LEDs around the edges and white spotlights rigged both above and below. A poppy, up-tempo tune began blasting out of rented speakers, and Bebe's voice announced through it all; _"Ladies and Gentlemen of South Park, welcome to my Autumn Collection!"_

Where most amateur shows might have gotten polite applause, Bebe got stadium-style cheering. People here weren't just enticed, they were _psyched._ Event electricity that powered cheering, clapping, and photo shutters as the first model stepped out on the stage for Bebe to MC from an unseen location; probably just around the corner of the greenroom area they'd erected between the stage and the gymnasium wall. _"People often think of Autumn in terms of yellows and browns, and forget about all the bright colors that can come out of autumn leaves. So to kick it off right, here's our girl Red in a beautiful layered dress that shows off the power combo of red and black, lets her show off those sick curves, and still keeps her legs warm against the chilly wind! Following after her..."_

The show had begun, and there was no time padded out for the volunteer models to do their thing. Red, the spearhead of the show, had stepped out in a knee-length black dress that had an apple-red skirt beneath it, another black layer beneath that, and red leggings beneath it all before meeting a set of black heels that announced her confident presence to the world. She was the definition of _strut,_ throwing rirnglets of curled hair over her shoulder with a devil-may-care mischievous smile as she strode out to the cacophony of camera shutters. In a stroke, she set the tone for Heidi who was following behind her in a flowing pastel pink ruffled top, paired up with a brown miniskirt and white leggings, her light brown hair accessorized with a headband decorated with faux autumn leaves and a pair of brown combat boots that said _'Classy enough to kick_ _ **your**_ _ass.'_

The girls had the first part of the set, each following one after the other, striding to the end the stage, stopping briefly to pose for a photo at the end of the catwalk with Bebe's photographer, and then preforming a showy turn before strutting back. Wendy was out next, with her play on black and lavender reminding of the striking colors that could come with the clear skies during an Autumn sunrise and reminding everyone just how cute a cozy sweater could be. Nicole hit the scene in a sky blue dress that followed the theme, as clear skies in Autumn always looked bluer than the rest of the year, and she paraded it with a winning smile and ribbons in her hair. Annie arrived in a sage-green jacket and mid-length white skirt over jeans to begin the outwear section, showing off carefully embroidered gloves that had brown curling lines that indicated the path of fallen foliage which detailed the cuffs. Lisa was after her, pampered by the make-up department to put her brown hair into a fancy updo and an open black jacket over her shoulders only giving a tease at the azure dress she wore beneath. Scarf around the neck, band just under the bust, and leggings- all detailed in a golden color that stood out in contrast to the blue.

After Lisa came Lola, sporting not just a wonderful pink jacket lined in tawny faux fur but a knit brown had of her own making, and Red was after her for a second turn where her dress had been given up for pants, a red sweater, and a long black coat that shashed in red around her hips and flared about her like a skirt when she spun. Wendy came for another turn in a gray jacket with yellow embroidery on the back creating the image of a barren tree... and just as she was reaching the place to pose for her picture, it was time for a key-change in the show.

" _And in case you thought this was just a girl's night out... Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the men's collection!"_

Cartman was first- of course he was; the diva. Hair combed, face powdered for the stage, a black turtleneck showing through from a matching beige jacket and pants that actually looked pretty damn good on him. Of course, he _worked_ it, stepping out on the stage and eating up the attention- stopping along the way to pose for each individual camera that was pointed at him, smiling, waving, _practically dancing_ and quite nearly taking up too much room when it was time to pass by Wendy, threatening to push her right off the runway for a second before he caught her hand, spun her, and sent her on her way back to the greenroom. As for the crowd, they _ate up_ his hammy performance, all the way to the end of the catwalk where he stopped to pose for the official photo that would be representing him online. He pulled an aloof look for that, hands in his pockets, looking down at the camera but only tilting his head slightly, as if he'd just noticed it.

The flash went off. The smile went back on.

" _Hey, what the hell?!"_

The music cut. The stage lights went. Cartman yelped in the dark, a great crash indicating he may have fallen off the stage, and several other yelps of people possibly confirming that fact as he landed on them.

The main gym lights turned on again. They were the massive industrial bulbs, the ones that didn't go to full brightness right away, but it was an unexpected thing that cut into the party atmosphere. It made people look away from the catwalk, searching for an explanation of why the show had suddenly stopped when they'd all been so into it.

Around the edges of the seating area, men in black suits had appeared; no less than a dozen. From the far end of the gym, the heavy crash of the double doors closing could be heard, and it made everyone twist their heads to look.. Two more men in suits were there, and between them was a woman.

No one took long to recognize her.

" _Holy shit, it's the president."_

Ducked against the foot of the catwalk, a kid in an electric blue hoodie grinned in triumph- triumph interrupted by a text from a friend who hadn't been able to be there that afternoon.

[Received, 4:21] I think someone is in my house. I'm scared.

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

OH HEY I'M NOT SICK ANYMORE!

So for those not on Tumblr, here's the skinny; I caught a NASTY cold about a week ago, and it impeded on the writing just a little bit. _But,_ I'm feeling much better now, so WOO!

That said, I'm afraid that this won't be the end of the delays. The next couple chapters are going to get... _technical_ for me. I'll be holding them back so they can be edited together, and them uploading them in a batch, probably two to three hours apart so there's still time for people to read and review and scream at me because _reasons._ That means the next update is gonna take a little time, but when it comes, we'll be running straight through to the end of this installment. Get psyched!

As always, I thank everyone for their continued support of my writing and this crazy little project.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	19. Small Town Complications

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Small Town Complications::**

President Ivanka Trump strode into a shocked crowd to approach the stage, head held high and eyes narrowed upon the end of the catwalk. She was flanked by the two secret service men who had been with her at the doors, her personal escort that intimidated people from getting too close. Only a few steps in, befuddled adults in the crowd began to respectfully applaud her presence, and others followed their lead without knowing what else to do. Finally, one of her other men must have gotten control of the music system and got the speakers to blast _Hail to the Chief;_ an appropriate track for her entrance.

At the foot of the catwalk, she found a kid. Red, curly hair- dyed; their eyebrows pointed to the natural color being _brown._ The kid wore a black knitted hat and a truly massive electric blue hoodie that made it difficult to make a determination on gender. There was a stain on the pocket. Green eyes- _they glared up_ over a self-satisfied smile. While the child appeared in every manner to be entirely _ordinary,_ there was no mistaking the face that had been taking Instagram by storm and causing this amateur fashion line to be the hottest thing on the internet right now. Already, within minutes of pictures going online, multitudes of teenagers were losing their _minds_ on where to buy these designs.

Stopping a foot short of this child, Ivanka remained placid in her face. Outwardly, she was calm.

 _You little fuck, this is exactly what you were supposed to do for **me.**_

With a small gesture to one of her men, she flicked her wrist and pointed. "Secure _that."_

She expected shock or surprise to flash across the kid's face- after all, they had desired a one-on-one meeting without any more suits. That didn't seem to be the case. The Asset remained calm, allowing themselves to be grabbed from either side. They did not struggle.

 _They also didn't stop smiling._

"What are you _doing?!"_

A squall from further up the stage interrupted the respectful applause the crowd had been confusedly been engaging in. Whispers were passing. No one knew what the President was doing here, why she'd show up to an event like this in a podunk town- and why she'd seize a random kid at the end of the stage. At the same time, however, _no one was stopping her._ No adults in the crowd made a move, and the majority of the under aged models were already secured backstage by her secret service men- with an immediately obvious exception who had reacted not with _fear_ but with _alarmed outrage._

She was coming down the catwalk with hell at her back in a flurry of tossed blonde curls, black pumps clicking against the runway as her long steps caused her red mini dress to ride up; thank goodness for tights.

"Are you the show runner?"

Smooth, low; a disarming tone that appeared to catch the blonde girl off guard as she hit the end of the catwalk, looking like she was ready to take off a shoe and hit someone with the heel of it. It was a diplomatic tone that made it hard to press the attack; which was exactly why Ivanka used it.

"I... I am." The girl responded. "What are you doing with my photographer? Why did you interrupt the show?" She demanded, though her fire still mildly shook. Shyly, she added. "M-Miss President."

"Because I've seen enough." She responded coolly. "I want to buy it."

Shock rippled through the people close enough to hear. Adults were whispering to each other, and a buzz of excitement came back as the presence of the secret service became less frightening to everyone who wasn't being directly held by them- namely the Asset. In fact, that little son of a bitch finally appeared to be surprised.

" _Buy it?"_ The girl on the catwalk parroted. Bebe Stevens, if Ivanka recalled from the tags that had been showing up from the photos in her feed.

"Ten-thousand dollars; for everything. The entire line; all rights to reproduction and sale."

Gasps went up from the peanut gallery; that was a lot of money on offer to a kid in middle school. Somewhere, someone shouted, _"Go for it, Bebe!"_

Elsewhere, someone else screamed, _"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"_

Someone else was coming down the catwalk- a rather _rotund_ boy in a beige suit and a black turtleneck. He'd been the last model on the stage before the lights went out, Ivanka remembered. He seemed furious, stepping up next to Bebe and taking her by the shoulders in an entirely too-familiar manner. The girl's mouth was open, on the edge of protest before the boy said. "You're just gonna break her fucking balls like that?! _Jesus tapdancing Christ_ that is the lowest ball you could have pitched and you're not even a fuckin' Jew!"

"Cartman..." Bebe muttered through gritted teeth.

"It's okay, it's okay." The boy assured, releasing her and stepping out in front of her, effectively a human blockade as he was both taller and wider than the girl behind him. "How fucking stupid do you think my client is, Miss President?!"

This felt... off. An unexpected deviance from the plan as it had been made. The boy, marching out, demanding attention and pushing himself right into the center of things carried a similar sensation to rubbing hair the wrong way that might have made a more expressive person shiver up the spine. Ivanka, a less expressive sort, simply frowned.

"And who, _pray-tell,_ are you?"

 _Cartman_ was a name that rang a bell, if only for history with other administrations. She seemed to remember he was good at causing _trouble,_ though he just as often solved problems he caused in his own _unorthodox_ manner.

"Eric Cartman!" The boy confirmed, chest thrust out with the boisterous announcement. "I'm Bebe's _manager._ If you wanna talk business, you gotta go through me."

" _Cartman-"_ Bebe hissed from behind, trying to sneak around him to get back in front.

"And you don't think ten-thousand is fair?" Ivanka quested, eyebrows raising delicately while eyes remained disdainfully narrowed.

"I think it's fucking piss in a bucket!" Cartman barked back.

" _Yeah!"_

The crowd seemed to instantly latch on, a chant of _'Give Bebe More!'_ striking up from somewhere in the back that quickly began to spread... and Ivanka suddenly felt the room become hostile. All at once, this has become a negotiation she hadn't intended on having, and she _certainly_ had not intended on having it in front of an audience.

She took a second to scan around, consider the options.

Then she looked down. Down to where the Asset just seemed to _exist_ , merely a foot or so beneath all the action. They had not struggled or kicked or even _yelled,_ as one might expect a child in distress to do. In fact, they remained utterly silent... and oddly _focused._ They had not looked around as the crowd broke out in support of Bebe, or up at their friends to try to gain their attention or help. They remained silent and laser-locked... on her. It was an interesting look they wore on their face; it seemed to _say_ something.

Something like... _Your move, bitch._

" _Very well!"_ She projected herself, putting her hands up to quiet the crowd that had turned out for this student even, looking up at Eric and his... _client,_ as he so claimed. "Let's go talk terms, then- somewhere _private?"_ She then gave her attention to one of her men holding the Asset. "We'll take this one with us. Start clearing the building- make sure everyone who can hold a pen signs a release form on the way out. I want individual and legally binding agreements that say I control _all_ of this; any more photos go online, I get to sue them into _oblivion_."

"Yes, Ma'am!" Was the customary response before the man she'd instructed began relaying her orders to the rest of the team via a covert earpiece.

* * *

It had been too early for trick-or-treaters.

Butters, due to being grounded, had been up in his room when it happened. He'd been taking the time to clean his hamster's cage, humming to himself since his phone had been taken away and any sort of music would bring his father up in a _heartbeat_ under the assumption that he'd gotten online when he wasn't supposed to and result in even _more_ restrictions. His hamster had been safely secured in his green plastic hamster ball, allowing the little mammal to roll about the floor as he dumped old bedding into the garbage and replaced it with fresh shavings.

It was busy-work, to keep him away from the bad thoughts. The thoughts that circled over the same words over and over again, and the same pit of _hot anger_ that lurked just beneath them.

 _It's not fair._

That's when he heard it. Someone had rung the doorbell. He could hear his father downstairs, getting up to answer it, and the door opening through the paper-thin walls of his house that let pretty much all sound carry. Curious, he stood up from his kneeling position on the floor where he'd been dutifully cleaning, and peered over it to look out the window and out to the street. He couldn't see the front door, of course, that was quite nearly _straight down_ from his window, but in the waning afternoon light he could see the warm glow that came out of the open front door, and the shadows of two people in that glow. One seemed shorter than the other, about the right size for a trick-or-treater, but it was barely after four- usually kids didn't start going door-to-door until six or so.

And then came the gunshot.

It was a sound that was really more _felt_ than _heard._ The shock wave of disturbed air punctuated itself through the ribs, and pierced into the eardrums. It was the sort of noise that made Butters jump in sheer surprise, before the sound that followed it even managed to register.

 _The sound of his dad screaming out in pain. The sound of his mother, deeper in the house, letting out a cry of fear and calling out for her husband._

Adrenaline kicked, and Butters jumped back from the window as if he'd somehow be seen. Panic made him glance back and forth- he could hear his mother crying, shouting- Dad, too, but he couldn't understand what they were saying through the walls and his own blind fire of terror. Did he stay in his room? If he left, he was certain he'd get into even more trouble-

 _Who cares?! Someone just shot your dad!_

Even then, there was a mental barrier that made even _considering_ leaving his room something he struggled with for extra seconds.

He heard a hard impact. A sort of sickening _crack;_ it was a sound he recognized because it was in recent memory. _The hard hit of the gun butt against his head when he'd been knocked out and taken, not even a few days ago._ His mother stopped screaming. He heard his father's voice, but it was weaker and more of a pathetic mewl.

 _Move, Butters. Get to a phone. Call for help._

That's what got him out. _Call for help. Do the right thing. Save the family._ That's what got his leaden legs moving, dashing for his bedroom door and slipping through the portal as shaking hands somehow secured the knob and turned it. The turn he made was towards his parents' room; whenever his phone got taken away, his dad always put it in his dresser drawer. He could get it back and call for help!

Dimly, he could hear steps moving into the house. They were unfamiliar, that of a stranger. They were also... slow, uncertain. Was it a robber? Were they looking for something?

 _Whys this stuff gotta keep happening to **me?**_

That note of self pity was pretty useless, and he discarded it as he slipped into his parents' room. He held his breath as he closed the door behind himself, turning around and glancing this way and that, wishfully wondering if there was any way he could escape the house from this room. Maybe he'd steal the blankets from his parents' bed and tie them together to escape out the window? Maybe, but first he had to call the police and get help. He rushed to the nightstand on his father's side of the bed, sliding open the top drawer and finding his cell phone. _It was off,_ which meant he had to spend nervous seconds powering it back on and waiting for it to get past the logo of his cell provider and onto the home screen

The sound was also on, blaring a jingle into his hands before he hugged the device against his chest, whimpering as he tried to muffle it.

The steps downstairs suddenly went silent. He didn't hear any movement in the house. _At all._ Deathly silence that made him more scared than the gunshot that had signaled his night at home would not be going as expected.

He glanced at his phone. It was on the home screen. Hurriedly, he dialed the emergency number and pressed it to his ear.

 _Ringing, ringing, ringing-_

"Oh, _come on-"_

" _South Park Police Emergency dispatch, are you in mortal danger?"_

" _Y-Yes!"_ The sound he made was the volume of a whisper but the panicked tone of a scream. "Yes, I am- there's someone in my house, and he shot my dad- and- and- I think he hit my mom-"

" _Wait- I know that voice; are you the Stotch boy?"_

He blinked. He supposed that was the advantage of a small town- that saved him the time of rattling off his address. "Y-yes, this is Butters- someone is in my house, he's got a gun, _please-"_

" _Aren't you grounded, kid? I was there when your dad picked you up to take you home after the kidnapping a few days ago. He grounded the_ _ **shit**_ _out of you. Get off the phone!"_

"B-but Sir, you're not listenin', _someone's in my house and they've got a gun, my dad's been shot-"_

" _Kid, get off the phone and just do your time; or I'll have to send someone to your house."_

" _Please!"_ He pleaded. "I need _help!"_

" _Damn straight you do, little troublemaker. We've got other things to deal with over here. That fucking midget escaped about an hour ago and stole a gun on his way out- don't call back! We gotta keep the lines clear for people to call in with information."_

The line went dead. He'd been hung up on.

 _The dwarf kidnapper escaped? And stole a gun?_

All at once, Butters was certain- the man who had kidnapped him, who had posed as a student and been taken away just a few days ago... was in his house.

He heard steps again. They were coming up the stairs.

There wasn't time to fashion an escape rope out of blankets. Between _escape_ and _hide,_ he made the snap decision to dive beneath his parents' bed, rolling himself into the narrow space and clutching his phone as he went for plan B.

If the police wasn't gonna help him, he'd hope his friends would. He didn't waste time with his address book, picking the most recent contacts he'd texted and firing off a message to both Kenny and Dee

[Sent, 4:21] I think someone is in my house. I'm scared.  
[Sent, 4:22] He's coming up the stairs. I don't think the police are coming.

He felt himself tearing up.

 _It's not fair. I tried to do the right thing. **It's not fair.**_

[Sent, 4:22] Help

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

Sooooooooooooooo... about that, huh?

Before someone points it out, I am fully aware that emergency calls go through a call center and not straight to the local police station, but this feels like a joke South Park would make where the police treat Butters with contempt and don't send help when he needs it because some local asshole saw him get grounded. The show does stuff that doesn't work in the real world all the time. Gimmie a break XD

Also, on my editing read-through I realized that I have more than a little modeled Ivanka's personality off of Yellow Diamond from Steven Universe without meaning to... which, y'know, I sorta wanted to go into full fictionalized characterture so _fuck it._ Leader who relies on a reputation for being reasonable and utterly driven by her even-handed attitude turning out to be a self-serving asshole pretty much works in this case. XD

Also, the reason I picked Ivanka was that I was first looking to use Donald Trump himself, but then I found out about the Mr. Garrison stuff [yeah, when I first started writing these stories I didn't know about that shit] and googling 'Donald Trump South Park' revealed that he had gotten a brief cameo and then died... So! We have a President Trump, it's just his daughter... and since we know nothing _about_ Ivanka [she is crazy careful in all of her interviews to avoid revealing _anything_ about herself] she's a blank slate which I can use to whatever effect I want.

So here we are.

Next chapter will go online in two hours my friends. Stay tuned, review, scream at me, all that good stuff. :3

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	20. Double Dees

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Double Dees::**

Bebe and Cartman had gone to the main offices to discuss just how much Bebe's fashion line was worth as well as how much she was willing to sell. Dee, on the other hand, was left in the hall outside... in the custody of two secret service men who kept looking at her with _utter contempt._

"We heard what happened to Russel, kid. Did you do that shit to him?"

 _Oh goodie, here we go. Comrades in arms._ Dully, she peered up at one of the two identical men. Black hair, black shades, black suits- they were like the agents out of The Matrix, down to the fuckin' ear pieces with the curly wire. The men to her either side could have been twins... or _clones,_ if she was feeling particularly paranoid. Then again, wasn't this her nightmare scenario as a kid? The thing her parents had labored to protect her from her entire life, and given her rules and restrictions to protect herself as well? And yet, here she was, having come as silent and sweet as a lamb to be in the custody of these two... and she somehow found herself unafraid. These idiots held no power of intimidation over her. The plan still had every chance of working.

 _There was just the trouble of Butters._ That text she'd gotten- she hadn't had time to respond to it before things got serious, but she saw that Kenny had received it too. Hopefully he'd be able to handle whatever was happening, and make sure their friend was safe. She had to take care of this side of things, or her family was never going to know peace.

"What'd you do, melt his brain with his own taser?" The agent pressed roughly, sounding as if he either gargled thumb tacks as a hobby or simply _really_ liked the Batman voice. "Where do you get off doing shit like that?"

 _Where do yo assholes get off stalking and kidnapping peaceful citizens? He was part of **your** outfit, wasn't he? If he didn't wanna get fucked up, he shouldn't have fucked with my friends._

"Think _Miss. President_ would be mad if we roughed him up a little?" The other guy quested, smoother in voice. Less _Nolanverse_ and more _BTAS._

"Little idiot has to be awake." The first man responded, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff, as if it were _so_ unfair. "She's actually gonna _talk_ to this little shit- I can't fuckin' believe it."

"Doesn't mean we can't give him a few bruises." The second cajoled. "For Russel."

 _You both are the biggest morons who ever fucking lived. **Try me.**_

She was already prepared for it- if either one of them took a shot at her, she'd freeze time, pants them, and punch them in the nuts for good measure. That would be more than enough to shock them out of commission for the few seconds she'd need to dodge away from them, and she'd just run circles around them until Ivanka got her damn dogs in order.

It seemed just as she had concluded in her head how good her plan of action was... that she was no longer standing with them.

The first thing she noticed was the _smell._ The horrific reek of burning skunk spray and kerosene, with a bad burrito mixed in for good measure. Before her eyes had even caught up to the fact that she'd been moved, _displaced,_ before she registered that she'd briefly felt hands on her shoulders and was aware that for a fraction of a second her feet had drug upon the linoleum floor of the school hallway, that horrific odor stung at her nose.

 _It was familiar._ Pretty much everyone recognized their own brand.

Blinking, she glanced left and right. She wasn't in the main hallway just outside the main offices anymore. In fact, she was just around a corner a few yards down- an inlet of the wall that held one of the two entrances to the school library. She'd been moved, in an instant, in a cloud of _gas_ that smelled very much like her own. Back where she had been standing, she could hear shouts of both surprise and pain, as if someone had carried out what she'd been thinking of- but _she_ certainly hadn't done it. No, her ass was still clenched up in preparation. What the hell happened?

When she looked forward, it finally registered.

 _She_ was standing there. Just a foot away.

It was _herself._ Another independent instance of her being that she locked eyes with, trading the _shock_ of peering at oneself and having it not be in a mirror; an experience that _never_ got normal.

Dee didn't know what it was. There was an _instinct_ that kicked in when she saw a duplicate of herself, violent and terrible. Could it be called a reflex? Possibly so, not unlike the jerk of the leg that occurred when hit just right with the weird-shaped mallet at the doctor's office during a physical. It wasn't something she controlled, but rather something she just _did,_ jerking forward with a closed fist to plow it into a face that was exactly like her own in every possible way- the same _eyes,_ the same _hair,_ the same _hat,_ the same _BBQ-stained hoodie-_

 _What?_

Her hand was caught. The attack was expected. This other version of herself had her other hand clenched, ready to retaliate, _shaking_ as if she were desperate to do so... but instead she turned and yanked, the pair of them slipping through the double doors into the dark library; a space that was practically abandoned now that it was more than an hour after school letting out.

 _That stain- that stain happened today, at lunch. She must have taken a re-do- but when? Why is she here? What is she doing? I need to meet with the president, the whole plan counts on it!_

 _ **FUCK THIS!**_

Reflex kicked in again- only a few steps away from the doors which had crashed shut behind them, and Dee yanked away from this copy of herself. A number of desired courses of action had been in her head, to possibly ask what was going on since they were in an empty room, maybe to demand that she be allowed to go back and do what she needed to do, but the moment she took physical action it was like rolling downhill. All at once, she was throwing herself into another violent advance, the hand she'd yanked away sweeping back as counter-balance whilst the opposing knee thrust up to hit her duplicate self right in the kidney.

The hit was grazing. She appeared to be expecting it, twisting out of the way and getting spun a little extra with the impact she did take. She stepped back, squaring off as she regained her footing on the cheap green carpet of the school library. _Frustration_ snapped across her face, and then that face got entirely too close.

Their brows came together with a solid _thwack._

It was a hit that made Dee see stars, backing up a step and covering what felt like a rising lump with her hand. _Shit sandwich with a cock inside, that fucking_ _ **hurt-**_

The other one hadn't backed off. She'd pressed the attack, but not for any body shots or to go for another hit to the head. No, Dee found herself bent over as her other self grabbed onto her hoodie and _yanked._ At first she was just doubled over, but she didn't let up. Her arms were forced up to extend beyond her head, and then the garment was stolen and her hat had gone with it. Messy red hair blocked her vision, and she felt a mass of fabric hit her face that must have been the hoodie thrown back at her.

"Check your phone!"

It was her voice, but she hadn't said it. It was the demand of her twinned self. Still blind, she swung as she heard footsteps rush past her in a full run. The library doors opened again, and crashed shut once more by the time she'd managed to get her hair back out of her face. The hoodie that had been thrown at her was on the floor, and she was alone in the library.

Alone, she no longer felt the urge towards violence. She couldn't explain it, the irrational _need_ to beat the shit out of herself... but it seemed that _she,_ the other one,had felt it too; thus her hurry to remove herself. This predisposition towards violence against duplicates had always been true, but that didn't mean Dee understood it- it felt like a sort of _temporary insanity,_ where something in her just took over and demanded that her copy needed to cease to be. It overrode all rational thought... which was the reason she generally avoided dealing with herself when fiddling with time.

Which brought up a very important question- that other her knew all these things, too. Why had she intervened? Why had she run back the way they'd come? Was this a switcheroo?

Had the plan failed the first time around?

Finally, she picked her hoodie up off of the floor and pulled it back on. In the kangaroo pocket, she found everything she'd tucked away. The folded up letter from mom, with dad's recipe inside, as well as her phone... plus an extra object she _hadn't_ packed that day- her earbuds.

She glanced back, towards the door. She heard shouting. No doubt her other self had been intercepted by those asshole secret service guys by now. Maybe she was killing time by beating the hell out of them, or at least making fools of them until Cartman and Bebe finished up.

Frowning, she decided to do as she was told.

She checked her phone. At once, she knew a swap had been pulled; a swipe of her lock screen made her phone go not to the home screen, but straight to her media gallery. There was a video at the top of the list as the most recent thing captured, and it was of her own face looking down. _No doubt this is what the earbuds are for- the other me must have wanted to pass along some kind of information, but knew we couldn't_ _ **talk**_ _without trying to kill each other. Smart._

Even as she was silently patting herself on the back as she plugged in her ear buds, she could feel the tension creeping in. Something had gone wrong, and she had a harrowing feeling that it had something to do with the text she'd gotten right when Ivanka had arrived. It was hard to hold still as she tapped play on the video, watching as her screen came to life with... herself, who also had not been able to hold still. No, the background behind her face, the softly glowing Christmas lights of her basement back home, was scrolling by as she probably walked in circles around the punching bag; she was known to do that when she was anxious.

" _Hello, me. If you're watching this, I managed **not** to pummel my own face in, which is a good first step, but we need to hurry. Agent asshole escaped from the police, and he's out in town right now. **Everything** went wrong the first time we did this. I'm going to take care of the negotiation, **you need to get out and get back to town as fast as you can.** If you don't, a lot of people are going to die tonight. Head for the eighth grade wing, get out through the emergency exit. Figure it out from there." _

* * *

The footsteps had stopped.

Butters had been straining to listen, silent beneath his parents' bed and holding his breath. He had heard the heavy footfalls coming up the stairs, but then... they stopped. He knew exactly how many steps it took to get to the top of the stairs; listening to his father's footsteps had become a horrific pastime as his personal countdown to internal misery. He knew that this other person, the gunman in his house, very likely the man who kidnapped him and concussed him, had stopped half-way.

 _Why?_

Was this a chance to escape? Or had he somehow softened his footfalls? Could he be just outside the door at this very moment, silently straining just as Butters was currently doing, searching for any hint that another part of the house was inhabited?

He heard something fall. A plastic clatter. It was another sound he was familiar with- his hamster ball, which currently contained a hamster, beginning to bounce down the steps. Had he left his door open?! The little guy must have rolled out of his room and-

 _One, two, three, four-_ And then stop. Four steps that poor little hamster bounced down, but then something stopped it from going further.

He whimpered, scared but also somehow reassured. The man was still on the stairs. Stopped for some reason. Was there something wrong with him?

He felt as if this was his chance to escape, to get the hell out. Scary as it would be to go out a window, it was a lot less scary than facing down a little-person government agent with a gun. _But what about his parents?_ They were still on the first floor, and his dad had very likely been shot- he'd be bleeding out without help!

 _Maybe I should just leave him..._

It was a thought that lingered just a few seconds too long before he shook it away, deciding now was the time to act. He rolled to one side, getting back out from under the bed and clambering his way upright with the frame as support. He turned himself towards the window, unlatching it and pulling it open to peer outside and check how far it was to get down. A distance that always seemed _theoretically_ short suddenly seemed a _lot_ further down to get to the ground... but it was the distance between himself and freedom.

Back inside the house, he heard the sort of _pop_ of his hamster ball being opened.

 _Irrational panic, terrible aching guilt-_ was the government man going to kill his hamster? _Why?!_ Why bother?! That furry little creature had done _nothing_ to him, besides roll across his path.

The idea of slipping out the window right now felt like a knife to the chest. It left him torn, glancing towards the portal of his escape, and then back to the door of the room. What did he do? Did he sacrifice his hamster for a chance to get himself out? Did he let an innocent creature possibly get squeezed to death by a cruel government midget who appeared to have no other reason to his being but to cause suffering?

It was probably already over. Hamsters squished easily, and that particular thought made him feel sick to his stomach. And then... _angry._ So angry that he turned back from the window, and made a decision that may have been considered just as irrational as his panic. Peering about the room, he took quick stock of what he had to work with, and decided there was no point in either running _or_ hiding. He was a young man, after all- and men protected their homes. They didn't run away; they ensured their own security. As he turned himself away from the idea of escape, something felt intensely _right_ about what he was doing. Like he'd done it before. It was a memory, but it wasn't in the past; rather a certainty of the future. Yes, he _would_ fight back.

He had to. It was like it was already done.

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

The trouble with having a mentally wounded gunman in your house is that he keeps forgetting what it was exactly that he set out to do. It's playing hide and seek with a murderous amnesiac who forgot what he was doing half-way through counting.

Next chapter up in T-minus two hours. Take the time to drop me a line and demand Butter's safety. :3 Hell, even if you're reading this after the story is completed and it's all up- I don't think there's anything I get more of a charge out of than hearing the chapter-by-chapter reactions of my readers. Seriously. It's the best thing ever and just makes me fuckin' happy... particularly if it's anguished screaming. :3

 _ONWARDS_

 _-Buttlord_


	21. Swapsies

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Swapsies::**

Dee's escape from the school showed her a path that had already been carefully prepared. Someone, she could only assume it was her other self, had put a metallic strip in-between the latch of the emergency door and the contact in the frame to keep the alarm from getting triggered. A somewhat unnecessary gesture, considering she could have just frozen time to gain the same effect, but with the adrenaline rushing through her system she could have easily seen herself _forgetting_ that's how emergency doors work and doing something stupid. Just outside said door? The backpack she'd brought to school today, which she'd left in her locker when she'd gone to the show. Her big black coat was there, too, which she shrugged on as she slipped out into the cold. From the emergency exit, it was a quick run from the edge of the eighth grade wing to the sidewalk that ringed the edge of the school parking lot.

Just as she arrived there, a car pulled up. She had ignored it at first, turning herself away from the school to beginning jogging up the sidewalk and start figuring out what the fastest way back to town would be. When would the next city bus be coming? Would it be faster to just _run_ back to town?

The car was keeping pace with her. It drove next to her, and she heard it as someone manually cranked an old window down. It was enough that she finally glanced over- and saw _Kenny_ half-way hanging out of a window to shout _"Get in, dammit!"_ At her through his own tightly drawn hood.

A shocked glance went to the driver's seat; was that- _it fucking was,_ Cartman's mom, Liane. Why was Liane giving Kenny a lift? And why was she in exactly the right spot to do the same for her? Dee knew she'd come to see Cartman in the show, but now that she thought about it... had she actually seen the woman in the building?

She stopped jogging up the sidewalk, and Liane stopped the car for Kenny to throw the rear door open from the inside, frantically gesturing to her and pulling her into the vehicle as she got in. The door was shut behind her, and Liane immediately took off from the school's parking lot at a speed that may have been considered faster than safe.

" _What the fuck, dude? This is your fucking plan!"_

Dee was a heap in the back seat. Kenny's yanking had ended her up half-sprawled and struggling to get herself upright and slide a seat belt on- but what was he talking about? Sure, getting the president to come down to South Park had been her plan, but all of this was unforeseen. Once upright, she glanced at him with a tight frown. _If you've got details, I'd appreciate being filled in._

"Seat belts, kids." Liane called sweetly from the front of the vehicle, as Kenny still had not put on his. He reached for it while studying the look on his partner's face before he realized what was going on.

" _There's more than one! Of you! You duplicated! The you that gave me the note- that must have been the other you!"_

 _Note?_ She blinked a few times, looking up at Liane, who had not required directions on where they were going... and she also seemed quite determined. What had been told to her to make her do this? Usually she never willingly ferried any kids into danger, and yet she appeared to be ready to take on the world for a possibly unknown cause... and leave her son at the school for the time being. Peering back at Kenny, she reached into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie to pull out her phone with the earbuds still attached, holding it out as well as presenting an empty hand. _Lemme see it, and you can see what the other me left for me._

He got it right away, exchanging a paper note for her phone and tucking the earbuds up into his hood before pressing play to watch the short video clip that was still cued up. She, conversely, had a much lower tech item in her hands that simply needed to be unfolded. Not unlike the strangeness of looking into a face that was exactly like her own but not under her control, she found a note that was most certainly in her handwriting that she had no recollection of having written.

 _ **It's all going to go wrong.** _

Those were the first words, written in large letters that ran over several lines on the page of notebook paper. She'd underlined it for emphasis. Under that, her sloppy script resolved into a normal size, fitting between the lines [mostly] and continuing on in a short letter.

 _Leave the show when Wendy gets on to the stage, get out of the school. I disabled the alarm on the emergency door in the eighth grade wing. Cartman's mom will pick you up, I'll join you. Butters is in trouble. Agent Russel escaped and ended up at his house while searching for mine. Something is wrong with him. If we don't get there in time, he's going to go on a rampage that starts with Butters and his family. The police won't come. They've already been attacked, several officers are injured, and they think calls from Butters's house are a prank they don't have time for._

 _I promise Karen will be safe. All the danger is in town, she's safe at the school. I need your help._

 _-Alyssa_

That was why the door alarm was disabled- not for her, but for _Kenny_ to make his exit ahead of her so their ride would be on hot standby- but what had gotten Liane to march to this tune? She was... disturbingly silent, outside from telling them to buckle up. Her energy didn't seem enthusiastic, but instead _tense-_ as if someone had recently held a gun to her head.

 _Nut-punching Macho Man Randy Savage, just how many strings did the other me pull?!_

" _Ms. Cartman, how long is it gonna take us to get back to town?"_ Kenny asked as he tugged the earbuds back out of his hood, peering up to the front seat.

"Just a few minutes." She assured placidly. "I'm going as fast as I can- my little sweetiekins was clear that he'd never forgive me if I didn't get you there in time... in time for _what,_ he didn't say. Just that it would all be ruined if I didn't get you two back to town as fast as possible- why, he wouldn't even let me come inside to see him perform in the show... Where do you need me to bring you?"

" _Butters's house."_ Kenny responded, not elaborating behind that. Liane might have opened her mouth to question it, but she hesitated, thought better of it, and returned her attention to the road.

Hearing Liane say that Cartman had insisted he give them a ride actually gave Dee a shot of relief... the fact that such relief came from finding out her son had threatened and verbally abused her until she agreed to it notwithstanding. For a moment she'd been terrified that she'd- the other version of her- had secured the woman's cooperation by verbally ordering it. So far she'd seen Cartman become obsessed with getting everyone to hear her voice after screaming at him, and heard about a government agent going completely kill crazy after commanding him to forget everything he'd learned in South Park- she _really_ did not want to use this ability much more than necessary without knowing a touch more about how it worked... even if there were several instances of it working out just fine like the singing contest and making peace with Cartman after his obsessive episode.

What had happened the last time around? She wish she understood more, but there'd be no de'ja'vu to guide her- her other self had already forced her to jump the tracks and take a different path... and it appeared she'd intervened with a number of other parties as well. Certainly Cartman had not convinced his mother to give herself and Kenny a ride _just to save Butters-_ he had to be getting something out of it.

 _Taint-sucking snakes, she better not have promised him anything I'm gonna have to live up to- me and that kid got enough back and forth going on as it is._

* * *

Eric Cartman had been surprised and confused when Douchebag had shown up in the doorway of the English classroom right at the end of the day, slipping in past the herd of kids heading out and getting his attention in particular by waving him off to the side. It was something that had only happened maybe an hour and a half ago, but seeing Douchebag reach out to him was... _weird._ That was always the thing about Douchebag; for the most part he was _passive,_ going along with plans other people made and tasks other people asked of him, and otherwise keeping to himself in his weird, silent way... when he wasn't ripping ass on people's faces or destroying their toilets.

That or talking to _Eric_ and _only Eric_ to make him freak out to the guys, only to go silent again and make everyone conclude that no, no, it was _Eric Cartman_ who was once again lying to the group.

But that was just the dynamic they'd enjoyed for the past couple of years- recent events had become more _interesting._ As well as more complicated. Douchebag had begun _talking_ to him outside his little asshole jokes. At first it had been to scream at Eric, to let him know that he'd finally pushed hard enough to cross a line and properly piss the guy off- a moment that had been as terrifying as it was utterly thrilling. Then, Douchebag spoke to him to discuss a sort of truce between them after he'd, again, crossed the line in Douchebag's mind... though Eric felt he was overreacting.

 _All he did was kidnap Wendy- like that was a big deal._

The point was that it appeared among the changes that came in this year, like the change from elementary school to middle school, the change in teachers, the change in classes, this seemed to be another change- a change in their relationship.

A change where, instead of ignoring him 24-7 until something had already been started, Douchebag came to him.

The guy seemed on edge, like he hadn't been sleeping. Then again, hadn't he been looking like that for a few days? The night that _Government Hobbit_ had been taken away, someone had mentioned that there were plans in motion to stick it to the President in some way. Had Douchebag suddenly realized that he _needed_ the greatness that was Eric Cartman to bring that plan to fruition?

Before he had even the time to say hello or ask what was going on, he was presented with a hand written note; one he'd protested upon receiving. Notes were _gay,_ after all- guys didn't pass notes. Then again, between notes getting passed and between this particular asshole opening his mouth, Eric would take the note.

Moments later, he'd be extremely thankful that he did.

He didn't remember the exact wording Douchebag had used on his little piece of paper, but it informed him of two things. One was that the fashion show would be interrupted by a high-powered buyer, and that he could bag a tidy profit for himself by placing himself as Bebe's manager and drawing out negotiations as long as possible with someone who was not prepared to take no for an answer. Two was that the whole deal would be ruined, and no one would get anything, unless Douchebag and Kenny got a fast ride back to town when the show got interrupted. Cartman's mother was suggested as a possible chauffeur.

At first, Eric had suspected nothing more than a joke; a prank to get him hyped up about some kind of big payoff and make him look stupid during the fashion show. He'd looked up to suggest just that... but Douchebag had already made himself scarce. It was the change in his behavior that made him think, for a moment, that _maybe_ the note was worth taking seriously. The fact that this was a change in his pattern, that it wasn't usual way of doing things... and because Eric could not see what he'd possibly have to gain by lying about someone wanting to buy Bebe's line; and it wasn't like the note had directed him to go and shout it from the rooftops. It was more like he as quietly alerting him to an exclusive opportunity, like super spies exchanging privileged information.

Okay, maybe the note was quite _that_ lame.

Douchebag also didn't drag him off to some bathroom to _talk_ to him. As many question-marks as Eric had about the kid's behavior, this fit the bill for sincerity. He'd believe it. And in believing it, he called his mom and made the appropriate number and types of threats to get her to come to the school and just _sit in the parking lot,_ ignoring her as her voice cracked when she talked about how much she wanted to see her pumpkin up on stage. Really, he sympathized with her wanting to see him in all his glory on the runway, but with the possibility of a big payoff? And a possibility of her lack of co-operation _ruining_ that payoff? She could cry all she liked.

And, much as Douchebag predicted in that note, the show had been interrupted just as Eric had been on the catwalk. The lights had gone out, and while he'd been pretty close to getting back to the greenroom... he had instead made a smart turn to move back out towards the edge, miscalculated where the stage actually was, and promptly walked right out into thin air to plummet down onto a couple members of the press. In _that_ moment, he had been embarrassed, and doubt crept in for one angry moment where he assumed that embarrassment must have been Douchebag's goal.

And then the lights came up, and the _President of the Fucking United States_ stepped into the gym and offered to buy the whole show for a cool ten grand.

The note didn't seem like a joke anymore. Too much had lined up. Eric would have plenty of questions later, but at that second he'd hefted himself back up onto the stage and done exactly what he'd been told; he put himself between the Commander in _Chic_ and the Commander and _Chief,_ and proclaimed himself the representative of Bebe's business interests.

Of course he'd noticed that Douchebag had been taken into custody by a pair of secret service bozos. He had to assume it was all part of the plan, because the kid wasn't fighting. He also had to assume that was _he_ was doing was part of the plan... and the fact that it put him into a position to make a tidy profit meant he had no reason to say no to being part of the scheme.

All of that... brought him here, walking out of the Principal's office and graciously holding the door for his 'client' as their negotiations concluded, a _too pleased_ smile on his face. Really, the suit Bebe had made him for the show had worked quite well for the whole _manager persona,_ and Douchebag had not been kidding when he'd mentioned in the note that the buyer _would not be ready to take no for an answer._ Who knew Ivanka Trump was so desperate for new designers, she'd pay out a cool _5.5 Million_ for the rights to Bebe's work?

And for her manager, a tidy twenty percent of the block purchase.

Getting promised just over one-million dollars had a way of putting a guy in a good mood. So good that he'd even hold doors and observe the social graces.

"Your friend should be waiting outside- would you send him in, please?" Ivanka quested, still sitting behind the desk in the office as if she were the principal and not the _fucking president who just bought a student's fashion line for more money than most people in this town could even dream of._ "I've business with him, as well."

"Yes, Ma'am." Bebe responded, appearing to be in something of a state of shock. Eric watched as she _drifted_ out of the office through the door he held open, an ankle taking her weight wrong and falling into a small stumble in her heels before she corrected herself and prevented a twisted joint. "A- _ah,_ we'll, uh... send him right in."

Eric shut the door, faced himself out, took a deep breath... and let out a cheer at the top of his lungs that might have shaken the sheet of locked glass that kept kids out of the school bulletin board whilst pumping his fists in the air. It went until he exhausted his breath, at which point he inhaled and begun doing a merry little dance around his dazed peer-slash-business partner. _"We just cle-e-e-ean-ed, o-o-out the pres-i-dent~"_ He all but sang with unbridled glee, ending his dance in a showy spin and popping out to an extended pose of victory; arms and legs extended and looking back at Bebe.

She still appeared to be catching up with exactly what just happened. "Did we just... get... _as much as I think we got?"_ She asked, glancing back at the door. She appeared to be in a sort of _pinch me_ stage of all of this. "I-I mean, sure, part of the agreement is she gets to sell everything else I design for the rest of my life, and she gets a percentage of sales, but- did... did I just make four million dollars on a school fashion show?"

"Jeez, you're bad at math." Cartman marveled. " _Five-point-five million dollars,_ Bebe."

"I know!" She put her hands out, as if she were portioning an imaginary submarine sandwich in front of herself. "I meant after your cut- I just... I never expected; _God_ I just paid for college and then some."

" _College!?"_ Cartman snapped, withdrawing from his power pose to stare at the girl in shock. "You still wanna go to more _skewl_ after getting set up like that? _Girl,_ I'd be planning a trip to the Bahamas if I were you."

Really, she was _so_ ungrateful. He just helped her make a shitton of money, and she was thinking about _working harder?_ Crazy, stupid, _girl._ He supposed it went with the territory.

"I think I need to sit." She muttered, shaking her head. "Let's go get Dee- those secret service guys had him out in the main hall, didn't they?"

Oh, right, _Douchebag..._ whom Cartman supposed he owed a word of thanks for tipping him off. And maybe a nice Christmas present, assuming the kid didn't piss him off between now and Christmas. Or maybe he'd fund a lobby to make Jewish traditions illegal in the US? Oh, the _possibilities_.Either way, he made his way through the administration zone to get back out to the main hallway... a place that now smelled as if the sewer had backed up and the halls were lined with sludge. Instead of seeing any sort of fecal catastrophe, however, Eric sighted Douchebag standing in the hall. _Just_ Douchebag. Oh, the secret service guys were still there, but they weren't _standing._ Both appeared to be down for the count, one with a bloody nose and the other with his arm bent in _intensely_ the wrong way, and both with extremely painful-looking wedgies.

"What the _fuck,_ Douchebag?!" Cartman shouted before he even got to the hall itself. "Are you _trying_ to endanger the deal my client and I just made? I worked my ass off negotiating, and you just... just... _beat up_ these guys like it's no big deal?"

Bebe was behind him, covering her nose as she detected the sheer volume of _gas_ that was looming in the air ahead. " _Holy-_ Dee... _ew..._ what happened?"

Dee responded with a casual shrug, and a face that said something along the lines of ' _They started it.'_

"Whatever, dude, _Miss. Prez_ wants to see you." Eric informed. "Better get in there before she comes out here and see what you did to her escort."

"Wait... Dee, you just... _beat up_ a pair of trained adults?" Bebe questioned.

"Douchebag beats up lots of people. He's kinda crazy with the fitness stuff." Cartman shrugged, as if it were old news. To him it was. He'd heard from Kenny that the kid was a gym rat- no tougher than _himself,_ of course, but he wasn't a slouch by any stretch.

Bebe might have argued more if she hadn't already been through so much already. "Y'know what? I'm just going to head back to the gym tell everyone what's going on. No doubt everyone else who was helping with the show is hanging around and waiting to hear what's up."

"And I'm stuck waiting around until my mom gets back." Eric nodded to himself as Douchebag passed him in the hall, heading towards the office where they'd left the President. Thankfully his _gasses_ weren't following him, and were dissipating quickly enough to make the main hall less than toxic. Eric began heading back to the gym himself, beginning to think of how he might just beg a ride from Stan's parents... when he froze mid-step.

Just an hour and a half ago, he'd gotten a note that said that _both Kenny and Douchebag_ needed a ride back to town. If that was _such_ a big deal...

 _Why was Douchebag here?_

He looked back, but Douchebag had already disappeared from the side hallway, no doubt just entering the office he and Bebe had left behind minutes ago. Did he risk his deal by going in after Douchebag and demanding an explanation?

… _no._ He decided there was another way to get information, and it started with pulling out his cellphone to call his mom.

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

CARTMAN DID SOMETHING RIGHT. AND WHILE HE'S STILL AN ANTI-SEMITIC ASSHOLE ON THE INSIDE, HE DID HIS FUCKING JOB.

Which was to distract the President long enough for Dee Beta to swap out with Dee Alpha. XD

And no, no Cartman will never thank her. Because by the time he thinks of it again, he will have manipulated his own memory enough to believe that it was his idea all along because he's a self-important asshat.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	22. Inevitable Death

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Inevitable Death::**

"Well, is it _everything_ you imagined?"

Dee had arrived in a rather _relaxed_ state, though she felt as if she _should_ have been tense. Maybe she was too exhausted to be tense. Too worn out from the late nights and the hard work that had gone into this moment- and seeing what had happened when it all went wrong. She'd been in this moment once before, after all. She'd had this meeting, stood in this room, stared down at this woman once before... but it hadn't been the meeting she had demanded. The first time? Those secret service assholes had been in the room with her, because they'd brought her right in. The first time she did this dance, Eric Cartman had already been back-stage, having gone to cower when the lights went out, and promptly been secured by men in suits, along with all the other models. Bebe had been allowed out because she was the show-runner, and she was part of Ivanka's complete victory.

In the original version of these events, Bebe had just agreed to the ten-thousand she'd been offered on stage, and then loudly protested Dee's removal before she herself was secured by yet another man in a suit.

In the original version of these events, Dee found herself _tied_ to one of the cheap chairs with in this office, a gag in her mouth as she was _worked over_ by the two men she'd just beat the hell out of and left in the hallway.

In the original version of these events, her failure had been complete.

This time was different. Ivanka had been delayed by Cartman, the secret service assholes were knocked out in the hallway, both Kenny and another version of herself were on their way to town to help out with the chaos that was about to break out there, and she?

 _She had everything she needed to make this work._

She twisted the dead-bolt on the door before taking a seat.

"Did your friends tell you what just happened... _Dee,_ is that what you like to be called? I have to applaud both you and your guardians; we've never managed to get a handle on your actual identities. _You, yourself_ have been given a _number_ of fake names on paper through the years. You've been a _Scott,_ a _David,_ even a _Richard-_ but most of all? _You've been a pain in my ass."_

Ivanka was such a _pretty_ woman, even if most of it was the work of surgeons, stylists, and the highest-end make-up. She had long, straight, frizz-free blond hair that framed an elegant face with a narrow and perfectly straight nose. It was the sort of symmetry and alignment that appeared _inhuman,_ practically _robotic,_ and she spoke in soft tones that just barely concealed a razor's edge. As she spoke, she drew herself up from her seat, fingertips on the desk as if she could support herself only by those pads. She looked down with blue eyes that did not appear in any manner _beautiful,_ but instead _dangerous._ Narrowed, intense, certain of victory.

"I gave you a job to do, and not only did you _not_ do it, you went and promoted- what? A _peer?_ As if they were equal competition?"

"You wanted me to resurrect your fashion line when it's boring and beige. I decided that if I was going to promote something, I'd promote something with a little _color."_

Dee finally spoke, naming what this was all about.

 _That_ was the job she'd been given. _That_ was what the piece of paper had asked of her before she ripped it up and nearly got shot for disrespecting the agents who had delivered the order to her. She'd been given the job of making the Trump brand name popular again, starting with Ivanka's fashion line- she'd been asked to _advertise_ overpriced handbags and boring business wear when she lived in a town where nobody made enough to afford those sorts of things... and if anyone did, they probably had the good taste not to buy _Trump_ branded merchandise.

She'd attempted to make a truce with the US government, and instead of treating her with any sort of respect? They'd given her a job that she found _beyond insulting._

And she let them _know it._ Bebe's show was just a coincidence, but it turned out to be the perfect way to give _Miss President_ a gigantic middle finger.

" _Tools don't decide what jobs they do!"_

Ivanka's snap was sudden, her face twisting into something inhumanly ugly for it's perfection. It was a face that was never made to frown- for beautiful women were not meant to frown. Here, she snarled, and a Botox-smooth brow furrowed down over her eyes.

The next second, that ugliness was gone. She soothed herself, standing straight up from the desk and folding her hands behind her back, presenting the calm face that had won her the presidency after America got sick of all the chaos. "No matter." She assured. "I just bought out the whole line- Bebe's work will be part of my brand once she signs the contract I'll be drawing up, and I've offered her more money than anyone in this... _charming_ little burg has any business refusing. In the end, even by _resisting_ me, you've still done what I've asked. Do you understand? _You can't win this._ You're just a child."

 _Pope Francis turning on a demon dick rotisserie spit._

Dee could not help it- she began giggling. It was a little thing, but it got louder and eventually evolved into outright laughter as she held her belly with one hand, leaning forward to grasp the cheap chair that awaited any kid who might get called into the principal's office. "I can't believe this!" She sputtered, eyes squinted shut as her sides began to ache- she rarely laughed aloud, and usually she found a way to shut herself up before she began laughing with just this much force... _this one time,_ she couldn't stop herself.

"... have you lost your mind, maybe?" Ivanka suggested dryly.

 _It was too funny- the confidence, the arrogance-_

" _It's the same goddamned speech!_ Did you write this shit _down?_ Did- didja _practice_ it? I figured _something_ would be different this time around- just a _little!"_

 _Well, something **is** different. She didn't give the speech while some secret service asshole punched me in the gut over and over until I couldn't breathe or think._

Ivanka was quiet, watching with a blank face as Dee got the last of the giggles out of her system, sobering up and wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. The hand with which she'd clutched her belly shifted to slip into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie, and her stance morphed in to that of casual nonchalance as she put her back against the door she locked; the only way in or out of the office.

"I mean... _jeez,_ I figured last time 'round it was because you held all the cards- had my hands tied and _everything._ This time? It's just _you_ and _me,_ and you're giving the same fuckin' speech like your stupid _jizz-stained_ brand was all that mattered, here."

"What do you mean, _last time?"_

Dee looked up. Ivanka remained standing, remained still. She hadn't begun to question her control of the situation just yet. _Of course she hadn't._

She'd won last time because Dee hadn't been able to get to her phone. Her hands had been tied- _literally._ The news had come in from town by the time she'd been freed up enough to fight back, and then she'd been so panicked that she'd abandoned her mission to try and help. It wasn't until after, until after everything had gone so wrong, and she sat _on the floor in Butters's living room, crying over his dead body,_ that she realized she needed to do it again. She'd been working on that whole _responsibility_ thing, to pick the moments when she'd monkey with time... and after witnessing such a complete failure? She couldn't think of a better situation to _rewind_ and _do it again._ To quietly set up the pieces to create a few key situations that would change the game, and put things in her favor.

She'd have to thank Kenny. It was his influence that had gotten her to start thinking a few steps ahead.

"Doesn't matter." Dee assured, fingers playing over her phone in her pocket. It was the one she'd stolen from her other self, swapping out their devices to give her _inexperienced_ version directions on what she needed to do to make this timeline work. Didn't matter. The file they'd made specifically for the president was already on this device. "Because now it's time for _you_ to listen to _me."_

The file had been cued up before she'd entered the office, her volume maxed out to play the _horrific noise_ that _pierced_ the eardrums and glitched over a multitude of layered voices that blended together into unknowable din. _Pounding, grating,_ the sort of thing that made teeth grind together as the brain throbbed against the skull in petty protest, sustained for no more than ten seconds but leaving a migraine in its wake.

Ivanka had _flinched,_ reaching to cover her ears, that too-pretty, too-perfect face twisting up once more. Her dentals showed- perfect, white, straight- was there nothing of her that hadn't been _modified_ into the perfected _mold_ of a woman; less a person, more a _shell_ that imitated one... and yet, she still cowered from the priming noise like everyone else.

The noise stopped, and Ivanka looked up. Her stare was _incredulous,_ her lips coming together to pucker, as if she were sucking in a particularly sour lemon. "What the _fu-"_

" _You're going to do exactly as I tell you."_ Dee cut her off, shifting her shoulders forward to displace her center of gravity and peel herself away from the office door. She took hold of the chair she'd been leaning on earlier and pushed it off to the side, approaching the principal's desk to stare at Ivanka at close range, enunciating words she'd been rehearsing in _her_ head for the better part of a week- ever since she hatched this plan. This wasn't quite the way she'd intended to execute it, but Ivanka hadn't played fair. "What are you going to do?" She demanded.

Ivanka's jaw fell open, but sound refused to come out at first. Her throat strained, like she was holding it back, resisting it, eyes popping out as her carefully shaped and waxed brows rose high in her forehead. A strange sort of _hiccup_ came of her efforts not to speak, the tendons of her neck standing out as her Adam's apple bobbed visibly. Then, strained, entirely against her will, she responded; _"I'm... going to do exactly... as you tell me."_

 _Excellent._

"You're going to call off the manhunt for my family. You're going to leave us in peace. No more kidnappings, no more attempts to bring us back to any lab for study. _No more spying_ on my family, _or_ Dr. Kartwright."

" _Kartwright-?"_

The name was something Ivanka coughed, tearing up slightly as her attempted resistance appeared to make it hard for her to breathe. As long as she was _fighting,_ she was wheezing like an asthmatic in desperate need of their inhaler.

"How did you know about-"

"We have Agent Russel's laptop, we saw the report he sent; that Kartwright might be leaking information. Starting now; her job is secure, and so is her privacy. Understood?"

More straining, and for a moment the wheezing stopped for the haunting _lack of breath,_ a catch snapping closed until finally Ivanka began to nod. Upon agreement, she was suddenly able to gulp in a deep swell of air, gratefully gasping before demanding. _"What the hell did you do to me?!"_

Dee ignored the question. Her theories were not something to be aired at the moment, that the reason she could control people online was because people online were generally _angry_ or at least _easily enraged,_ that an _angry mind_ was an _easily influenced_ mind, and that was the vulnerability she exploited. It was just a theory, of course, but the priming noise was nothing if not _enraging_ and _annoying-_ it was painful and rude, and most peoples' knee-jerk reaction to pain was to get mad at the thing that hurt them... which was the time at which Dee chose to speak- the time at which defenses were weakest, and she could override her target's will. Ivanka herself appeared to be of most _unflappable_ character, so the priming noise she'd built specifically for the woman had a little something extra built into the layered commands- that if she didn't _agree,_ she wouldn't be able to _breathe;_ truly, what could be more frustrating? What else could extend both panic and anger for minutes on end, to ensure maximum effect?

So far, that theory appeared to be working.

So she continued her demands. "I want all information relating to the experiments and research done on my parents, as well as all records from my conception and birth. You will give every shred of information you have on myself and my family to Dr. Kartwright, and Dr. Kartwright will deliver the documents to my parents at her convenience. Finally- the official record will reflect that I'm _dead."_

" _Dead?"_

This was the part of the plan that had to shuffle a little bit. Something that Dee wasn't looking forward to, but knew had to be done; after all, she no longer had a timeline to go back to. She'd just negated the chain of events where everything had gone to hell in a hand basket, at least on this side of things... and she had to remain hopeful that the other version of herself would be able to stop Agent Russel. Collapsing a timeline always meant the same thing.

She knew how this had to end the moment she'd duplicated herself with the intent to head off the future she'd come from.

It as just like the fucking zombie timeline, only this time she wasn't spitting black bile.

"I'm aware that you have a gun concealed under your _oh so fashionable jacket."_ Dee observed dryly. "You and I are going to walk out of the school in full view of my peers who are still here, we are going to get into your limo which is currently parked in the bus parking lot, and drive away. Ten miles down the highway, you are going to shoot me, and then dump the body somewhere outside of town. After that, you will honor the verbal agreement you made with Bebe Stevens and Eric Cartman with a paper contract, and after that deal is signed you will _never come to South Park again_ for as long as you are serving the office of President. _Do you understand?"_

 _Do you see it now? Do you see that_ _ **I'm**_ _the one to be afraid of? This would have never happened if you had abided by the deal I offered. We could have worked together, but you just had to treat me like a fucking_ _ **kid.**_ _All I wanted was some goddamned_ _ **respect,**_ _and now we're here._

 _ **Do you see that I'm the one in control?**_

Sweat beaded up on Ivanka's forehead, blotches of red appearing on her pretty powered face. She didn't want to say yes, she _was fighting so fucking hard not to._ Dee watched, without sympathy, as a world leader bent nearly double over the principal's desk, shoulders shaking and unable to breathe, perfectly manicured nails digging into the wooden surface and taring some loose memo that had been sitting out.

Then a _wheeze,_ coughing and gasping, as she relented.

" _Yes."_ She said. "Yes, I understand."

* * *

 _Where, who, what, why, how?_

 _ **What?** What is this? _

It was a fuzzy thing, in a ball. He could not recall where it came from, nor it's possible significance, but it had gained his attention all the same. A little rodent, a _hamster,_ he realized. Why was there a hamster? He had caught the ball, clattering down a set of stairs- stairs he was standing in the middle of, and yet he occupied himself with the ball. Another object that had been in his hand went unidentified, pushed into a pocket without awareness, so that both hands could reach down and retrieve the plastic ball and bring the rodent closer for him to look at it.

It was so small. A fragile thing with a twitching nose and little ears, crawling up the sides of the ball which would no longer roll, now that it was held in his hands. It crawled, and then slid down, and then crawled some more. _Crawl, slide, crawl, slide, crawl, slide,_ such a petty little creature, doing such futile things. Did it not realize it was stuck? Trapped, unable to progress forward?

Maybe it couldn't comprehend that.

It was cruel, he decided. The ball was cruel. He grasped the top, and turned it to pop it open, angling the ball so the hamster could now climb out of the open hole... and into his hand.

 _Soft._ Soft fur, and a tiny warm body.

 _Where am I?_

He blinked. As the hamster sniffed at his palm, his head began to slowly turn and scan. He was in a house. When did he get there? What happened to the cell?

He peered down the steps, and saw a splatter of blood soaked into carpet, and an unconscious blond woman at the foot of the stairs.

 _I did that. They were in the way. I was searching. I need to find them. I need to find the kid._

 _ **What** kid? There were lots of kids. Which kid? _

_**The kid with the mask, with his phone, with the noise-**_

His hand suddenly closed. He remembered the object he'd shoved into his pocket. Tiny bones cracked between his fingers, and a strangled squeal escaped an animal that was very soon dead and discarded upon the steps. He dropped the hamster ball, and it bounced the rest of the way down the stairs; empty. His hand dug into his pocket, grasped the stolen pistol once more, and he remembered shooting the man at the door. He remembered the way he cried out, the way his wife screamed- had she been coming to the door? No, no, she'd been going for the _stairs_.

 _There's someone upstairs._

All at once, his head jerked upwards... and saw a boy. Blond, somewhat round in features, with pale blue eyes that stared in fear. Fingers gripped tightly around the corners of some kind of fabric- a blanket? Yes, and by holding the corners the boy created a pouch in which something large and round was contained.

The boy swung, and the object contained within the blanket was shown to be something _heavy,_ which shattered against his skull as it knocked him down the steps to land on the plastic hamster ball.

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

Butters, you're gonna be _extra-extra_ grounded when your dad finds out you broke a vase in an attempt to stop a home invader. XD

Also, poor hamster. Such a loyal minion.

Also, _yes,_ the whole joke with Ivanka was that when Donald Trump took the presidency here in the real world, a whole bunch of retailers dropped Ivanka's fashion line in protest and Mr. Trump pitched a massive tantrum over it, so _ha-ha wouldn't it be funny if Ivanka decided to use a kid who could control the internet to make her fashion line popular again instead of doing anything of actual importance?_

 _That is the joke I wrote this entire installment of NKS to make._

 _ **This is why I can't write comedy. I apparently need a metric fuckton of angst to set up a single ounce of laughs, and I frankly don't even know if this shit is funny.**_

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	23. Home Defense

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Home Defense::**

Butters knew his father kept a shotgun in the garage.

It was his intent to get to that shotgun and defend his house.

Once that was decided, it was a matter of finding something he had at hand and improvising it into something he could use; a blanket and a heavy ceramic vase that sat as decoration in his parents' room did the trick, and turned out to be a very effective weapon when he stood upon the stairs and confirmed that the man in his house was, indeed, the very man who had kidnapped him just a few days ago. Not a fellow student, but a government agent who had come to try and do something bad to Dee... and then Dee had done something bad to him? Kenny had been sparse on the details, but Butters hadn't cared at the time. That night, when he'd been cared for on Dee's couch after being rescued, he'd been certain that everything was going to be alright. He'd gotten grounded, and already it felt as if life were ready to go back to normal.

Instead, he watched this dwarf man crush his helpless hamster in his palm. He heard it's dying squeal, and observed as the broken corpse was dropped onto the steps like a crumpled piece of paper.

And then the man looked up at him.

He had hazel eyes, but they weren't _sharp._ Instead, they were dazed, _distant,_ not unlike staring into the eyes of a day-old fish with cloudy pupils. Did this man recognize Butters?

There wasn't time to care. With a mighty swing, Butters used the blanket as a great big sack and slung the heavy vase down upon the midget's head, committing to a tripping course down the steps as he heard the vase both connect and _break_ against his brain-case. He let go of the blanket, jumping the last couple of steps to make it to the main level.

His mother was on the floor, unconscious, a red welt and torn skin on her forehead suggesting that she'd been pistol-whipped in exactly the same way Butters had just a few nights ago. To one side, he tracked the crimson splatter of blood back to where his father was currently crumpled on the floor, dimly aware of his surroundings and tightly gripping a gunshot wound on his upper thigh that oozed blood at an alarming rate.

" _Butters...?"_ He quested dimly. "B-Butters?"

 _No time._

The front door was open, but that wasn't the fastest way out to the garage; he took a sharp turn to head for the side-hall that connected the main house to the garage, throwing it open and slamming it closed behind himself, not even looking back to see if the dangerous individual in his home had begun to get back up, or sparing a thought to the idea that he might have been knocked unconscious by the heavy vase. No, he was a being driven utterly by panic and adrenaline, letting out little noises as he rushed into the garage and began racking his brain on where exactly the gun was kept. Shaking hands landed heavily on a work bench against the back wall, glancing desperately this way and that before pushing off and to the side, attacking a standing locker with gusto and causing to to wobble as he ripped the doors open. Eyes swept over, he registered some sports equipment; a baseball bat, an old hockey stick, skis; all standing upright with the related pads to each sport sitting in the bottom of the locker, dusty and untouched for who knew how long.

He left the locker open, moving on to new prospects. There was another standing locker- and this one was actually _locked._ Oh, _hamburgers,_ it was just like his father to keep something like a gun under lock and key- what if he had the key on him? Would he have to go back into the living room and pillage his dad's pockets just to get something decent to fight back with?

 _I'm gonna be grounded for life._

The door to the garage opened. Butters let out a squeal, his body dropping low as he dashed back to the first locker and grabbed the first long item that came to his hand- the baseball bat. It was wooden, not metal, but it felt reassuring in his hands as he hefted it up onto his shoulder, the rest of the sports stuff clattering out of the metal locker and onto the floor with a great _crash_ of things. Equipped in some manner, he looked towards the doorway.

 _He was there._ The man he'd known briefly as Steve, and then told was actually a government agent named Russel. The midget had pushed the door open with little fanfare or urgency, but he led with a pistol that was aimed with lethal intent.

"Where is he?" He asked dully as Butters froze in the face of the gun muzzle, the pair at far ends of the garage from one another but that distance not feeling very far at all. _"Where is he?"_

"Where's... where's _who?"_

This guy was looking for someone?

 _I've got a bad feelin' about this._

"He wore a mask, he made the noise-" The man in the doorway muttered, those words becoming a loop and went over and over again as he stepped into the garage. _"Wore a mask, made the noise, wore a mask, made the noise-"_

His stubby legs made several short strides, closing the distance between himself and Butters, which led Butters to back away. One, two, three steps, until his back hit the far wall and he was left to stare at the advancing man with his gun. And then, just as it seemed he'd come into point-blank range and possibly put a bullet in his head- he tripped. His feet got entangled in the pile of old sporting goods that had fallen onto the floor, and Butters took the opportunity to make a mad dash back to the open door and return to the house, slamming it shut behind him and jerking the deadbolt home.

The sound of the gunshot was, again, something he felt more than he heard. Something that jolted his bones and thrilled his skin, all while his ears rang in protest to the close proximity. In fact, the ringing was about all he could hear; high pitched screaming that blocked out all other sounds, save for the thumping of his own heartbeat.

He'd felt more than the sound, this time. There had been a different kind of jolt, the sort where his nerves alarmed him to something being terribly wrong with the hot sensation of surprise and searing pain that lasted for an instant before shock took over and left him shaken and numb. He took a step back from the door, stumbled, and fell back on his butt. The baseball bat he grabbed fell out of his hand, and still the ringing in his ears _screamed_ as he managed to look down and see a bloom of red that had taken over the right side of his shirt.

There was a hole in it.

 _There was a hole in him._

 _Sweet Jesus, I've been shot._

The red was such a _fascinating_ color. He touched where it had corrupted the teal of his shirt, saw as it coated his fingertips like wet paint, intense and shiny. And more was gushing up, racing over threads of fabric and soaking into the floor below him, leaving him in a wet puddle of his own vitality.

 _I think I'm supposed to try and hold it in?_ Even as he considered this, his hand felt almost rubbery as he tried to press his palm over the place where his shirt was torn and his flesh wept. It didn't seem to make much of a difference, either, since the viscous liquid just came out between his fingers no matter how hard he pushed down.

And then it wasn't his hands anymore. As he stared down, amazed with how peaceful it felt to just watch it all escape out of his body, he watched as his hands were replaced with someone else's; they had some kind of blanket that they wrapped around his side, and then he was laying down for that person to push down, _hard,_ with both hands. He was looking down at those hands. Did he know them? It wasn't his dad, the hands were too small, the fingers too thin. Mom? No, no, no manicure, no shiny nails.

 _Bright orange sleeves. I know that jacket._

* * *

Ms. Cartman pulled into the Stotch's driveway just in time for them to hear the gunshot.

Thankfully, the police were not far behind them, as Liane had made the call once Kenny explained to her that one of their friends might be in a great deal of danger... and unlike Butters, who had been blown off and put in danger by a negligent police force, Liane actually got an assurance that help was on the way. Of course, the police also directed her over the phone to _not enter the house..._ something neither Dee nor Kenny could listen to when they heard gunfire. They were both out of their seat belts and leaping from the care before Liane had come to a complete stop in the driveway, beating feet up the walk to the open door.

Upon sighting Butters, bleeding, staring down at himself, there was nothing but _panic._ Kenny searched for something to staunch the wound and found a blanket on the stairs that, while having to be shaken free of pottery shards for some reason, came in plenty handy for quickly folding up and using as a pad to wrap around Butters's side and put pressure on both the entrance and exit wound that showed him as being run through on the right side.

 _Fear_ was a potent thing. Fear brought Dee kneel just above Butters's head, looking down at him and feeling his neck for a pulse, and it was relief from that fear when she found said pulse that made her tear up. He was alive! _He was still alive-_ but was this right? They'd heard the gunshot, this had happened only moments ago, and the blood was spilling out at an alarming pace. Would he make it, even with emergency services finally on the way?

She didn't want to risk it. She'd already monkeyed with time just to _get_ here, to arrive with herself and Kenny to do something to _help,_ certainly she could fiddle with the timeline once more to ensure her friend would be okay?

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up. Kenny was looking at her. One of those looks that had already read her mind and knew what she was thinking.

" _Calm down."_ He said through his hood as police lights began to flash outside the house. _"You've done enough."_

Her teeth gritted, horror taking hold as she contended with the fear that she _hadn't._ That she'd been sent on a different path through time by a duplicate version of herself to prevent something terrible from happening and she _hadn't_ done enough. That, despite best efforts, Butters was going to bleed out in his living room, barely conscious enough to know that there were people around him who were distraught to find him toeing the line between life and death. In her head, she realized, that was all she could _see-_ this image of Butters not dying, but _dead,_ on his living room floor; it was in her mind and it felt real, more real than the scene before her where Kenny used gravity to keep weight down on the gunshot wound, and gently stared at her to tell her that she'd done enough.

"Oh, hey... fellas."

They both looked down. Butters was awake! Poor fucker was pale as a ghost, but fuck he was _awake._

"You can't be here... I'm... _grounded."_

Dee and Kenny glanced to one another, and Kenny let out a laugh.

" _Dude, just take it easy. It's gonna be okay."_

From there, the police and EMTs took over. Trained medical personnel had both Butters and Mr. Stotch on rolling gurneys and hooked up to fluids and blood in a heartbeat, and the police all but tore down the external garage door- just in time to stop Agent Russel from unlocking a metal locker with a key he'd found; a locker which contained Mr. Stotch's shotgun and ammunition. There was shouting, a moment of violent confusion, a gunshot- and then Agent Russel lay dead, a bullet put through his broken brain by a trigger happy officer who might have been out for revenge after what had happened at the station.

Before Dee knew it, it was time for cleanup. Police tape was being used to cordon off the house, photos were being taken, evidence bags were getting filled. Statements were given to the police. The medical teams packed up in preparation to rush the entire Stotch family to the hospital. Liane announced her intent to head back to the school to go pick up her son, and offered to give both Dee and Kenny a ride back.

The pair shared a glance at that point. Dee didn't want to leave Butters until she knew he was going to be okay, and she got the sense that Kenny didn't either... but the difference was that Kenny still had a little sister waiting for him to go trick or treating with her. It was still _Halloween,_ after all, and it wasn't even five in the afternoon. The dangerous lunatic had just been killed in a _'dangerous shootout'_ , and if the South Park track record was anything to go by, Halloween would be going on as planned. Fuck, plenty of kids would probably think all this police tape was someone's idea of _decorations._

Dee waved off the offer for a ride. She'd go to the hospital with Butters, and Kenny would go back to the school to meet up with his sister.

They'd see each other at Bebe's party; she'd just have to apologize to Karen for bailing.

Kenny didn't let her go right away. He reached out for the hand she'd used to wave, tugged her close, and hugged her tight.

" _Tell him he did good, okay?"_

The pair parted ways, and it was time to go.

* * *

It had taken slightly more than an hour for Butters to come out of surgery. Thankfully, the news was that he was going to be just fine, as it was with the rest of his family. The closest call had actually been his father, who had been dangerously close to critical blood loss. The EMTs estimated that if they'd gotten there just a few minutes later, there would have been no hope for him. As a friend who had ridden in the ambulance with Butters, Dee was permitted to sit in the recovery room where he was still unconscious from surgery, waiting for the kid to wake up. It was a ward with a number of people in it, separated by white curtains and little else, and nurses bustling this way and that just beyond.

Sitting in a provided, if uncomfortable, chair, Dee took a selfie to commemorate the recovery and mentioned everyone who had half a clue who Butters was as she shared it online. It was the easiest way of letting people know he was alright without getting into big conversations with anybody who suspected she might have been in two places at once- people like Cartman, who had sent her a number of furious texts when his mother hadn't been answering her phone and accusing Dee of all manner of things, including but not limited to kidnapping, rape, and murder... but not explaining how the hell that worked or what might have motivated it, and also why Liane herself wasn't pressing charges or making any claims after arriving back at the school to pick Cartman up, safe and sound.

Since Cartman's outburst, she'd gotten a handful of other texts. Kenny informed her that Karen forgave her for not being able to make it, and that she hoped Butters would be okay. He also sent pictures of the pair of their Halloween costumes; with Karen dressed up as Wednesday Addams and Kenny wearing a gigantic homemade wig for Cousin It. Dee had been supposed to come as Lurch to round out their group, but sadly it appeared that it wasn't meant to be. It still looked like Karen was having loads of fun, and that was the part that mattered. She'd also seen pictures from Kyle and Ike, who had teamed up with Kenny and Karen despite disparate costumes; Ike had gone for a pirate costume this year with great success, rocking a fake beard and a disturbingly well-made toy sword, with Kyle backing him up as his first mate in a stripped shirt with a fake parrot on his shoulder. There was no news on how Cartman's venture to get paid for trick or treating with a whole bunch of kids was going.

She didn't see any account of what either Stan nor Wendy were up to. She texted Wendy, but got no response. Were they together? Neither of them had younger siblings to trick or treat with. Maybe they'd gone to see a scary movie together or something.

 _Looks like I'm on my own._

The thought wasn't a rare one. There were plenty of times Dee _preferred_ isolation, but she also existed in the strangest position that if she were to enter an online space and complain of loneliness, well over _ten thousand_ human beings would offer to talk to her in a second. Literally. One second. Beyond that, the numbers just got too big to comprehend. She couldn't have apps like Facebook's messenger extension directly on her phone because it would _never shut the fuck up_ if she did. Notifications were constant. Likes were overwhelming. Retweets, shares, the constant attention of uncountable strangers- _none of whom she gave a flying fuck about,_ never stopped. Any part of her life she chose to expose to the public, and even parts she didn't, were included of a never-ending background _buzz_ to her existence. It was an invisible presence of a million strangers who considered themselves all to be her _friends._

But a small handful of people? All doing something on Halloween, as she sat in a recovery ward waiting for one at-risk boy to wake up?

 _How else am I **supposed** to feel? _

"Oh boy... am I in trouble?"

 _Butters!_

She very nearly said his name aloud, curbing the urge by standing up out of her chair and very nearly sending her phone to the floor from where it had been sitting in the heavy folds of her hoodie. The device was snatched up in one hand, pushing it into her kangaroo pocket as she leaned over the side of his bed to look down at him, breaking out into a massive smile.

"Oh, hey there, Dee." Butter's voice was low, and he swallowed multiple times before asking. "Could I get some water?"

She nodded quickly, stepping out from behind the curtain to look this way and that before sighting a water dispenser with paper cups near the door that led to and from the recovery ward. She strode over quickly, getting a cup of water and returning with an unexpected spring in her step. Butters was grateful to receive it when she returned, and she helped him sit a little more upright so that he'd be able to drink without choking.

"Why are you here?" Butters asked dimly. "What... what happened? I remember..." He reached down, grabbing the thin white blanket with his free hand to lift it up and look at himself. Of course, the hospital gown was in the way, but Dee knew what he was getting at. She put her hand on his, getting him the let the blanket down and offering him the best attempt at a reassuring smile that she had.

 _I wanted to make sure you were okay. I care about you._

"That guy, the one who kidnapped me an' Eric an' Mysterion- he... he was in my house, Dee, and he... He shot my dad, he hit my mom, he _crushed my hamster._ I was gonna run away, but... _I didn't want to run away."_

Was he expecting her to be mad at him for not running? Did he feel stupid for trying to fight back, or suspect that someone might accuse him of such? She certainly wasn't the sort to reproach him; fighting was her preferred way of doing things. The whole reason all of this shit had come down was because she'd chosen _fight_ over her parent's default action of _flee._ And yes, fighting was more dangerous, and exposed one to more risk, and she didn't even know if she'd _won_ at this point because she had no idea what her duplicate self had been able to accomplish. Had she been victorious? She had no fucking clue... but she was sitting here with Butters, and he was alive after choosing to fight.

Honestly, that made her feel a lot better.

She squeezed his hand. _Don't worry Butters, you did good._

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

 _THERE. BUTTERS IS OKAY. Y'ALL CAN CALM DOWN NOW._

Really, this is the main reason I decided to hold this set of chapters back until I had gotten to the resolution of the Stotch's home invasion; because the last time I focused on Butters in any way that wasn't perfectly positive, I got a buttload of people screaming at me about it and it got _really discouraging,_ so I wanted to get everything written up first so I didn't get depressed right in the middle and stop writing. Because that would have sucked. For everyone.

Seriously people, I get loving your favorite character, but don't be abusive to authors who make content for free.

One last chapter, time to wrap it all up.

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


	24. Wrap Party

**:: I Want You! To Spread Propaganda – Wrap Party::**

Dee arrived home to an empty and dark house, just shy of nine o'clock at night on Halloween. She'd been dropped off by the Testaburgers, whom Wendy had sent to give her a ride home from the hospital once Dee had filled her in on all the details of the evening via text... and after she'd gotten out of the spooky movie she'd gone and watched with Stan as their way of celebrating Halloween. She and Stan had come along to see her, and ask her how she was doing, since there was that whole business with _seeing Butters get shot_ and then waiting by his bedside for him to wake up from surgery preformed to make sure he didn't bleed out into his guts. She'd used her phone to tell most of the story, though she omitted the part with her time-twin for the moment; she still didn't know how well _that_ part of things had gone. Part of her wondered how she'd find out.

As she got out of the Testaburger SUV and waved goodnight to Stan and Wendy, she became apprehensive of her house. Maybe that other version of herself had returned here to tell her how it went? But how would she, when the moment they _looked_ at each other they'd both probably snap into _Mortal Kombat_ mode? The fact that the house was utterly dead, lacking in any living energy, only added to a sense of foreboding that seemed entirely too fitting for this particular All Hallows Eve. That feeling got even worse as the vehicle containing her friends pulled away and took its headlights with it.

She shook her head, shouldering the pack she'd prepared this morning to get her through this day. Arriving back on the doorstep should have been a relief- getting back to the house meant that she _survived,_ and that in itself was an accomplishment. She'd spent a good long while with Butters, comforting him after his ordeal and hanging out with him until he fell into a more natural sleep to begin his healing process. By all rights, this day had turned out _better_ than it had any business being.

But it had also been worse. It had been so bad that she'd had to do it _twice,_ and she had no idea where her other self was- the one who had lived through the bad version of events and returned to try and _fix_ it.

There was only so long she could stand in front of her house. Shaking her head, she approached the front door and unlocked it, stepping inside and flicking on the living room light.

No one was there. Nothing had changed from that morning when she'd left the house. She heard nothing, sensed no one. The house was a corpse, empty and cold, devoid of the warmth she and her family had built up in a couple years of living here. Dropping her backpack off of her shoulder, she slung it against the side of the couch before sitting on her ass to take off her shoes, letting out a heavy huff.

She was equal parts relieved and disappointed. Someone being here, even if that someone had been _herself,_ and _even_ if that had ended in a fistfight... she might have preferred it over this stillness.

Shoes off, she passed into the kitchen. Food was obtained, the TV was turned on, she flopped onto the couch while consuming that which was required- although she wasn't interested in it all, nor the broadcast. It was just there for noise.

Idly, she checked her phone. She watched the video clip from her time-twin again, though it didn't nothing to give her any resolve. She hadn't heard what happened with the president besides Cartman making some kind of deal? The details sounded a little unbelievable; but she was sure she'd hear the long and short of it at Bebe's party. And apparently everyone who was there saw her walking out _with_ the president.

 _What if something went wrong? What if she's- what if **I've been captured?**_

Just as obsession threatened to set in, she got an e-mail.

It was from Dr. Kartwright.

The subject line alone was enough to break the doubt and fear. It was something that, just by asking, Kartwright had told Dee all she needed to know.

If she were less exhausted, she might have jumped up and pumped her fists in the air.

For now, she'd just smile.

* * *

[ Subject ] Are you Dead?  
From: "DocKartwright"  
To: "AssMaster9001"

Because that's what they're telling me. That you're dead, and we're no longer spending resources on your case, that your parents are no longer an item of interest, and that all research we did ON them is getting delivered TO them. BY ME.

Also, I've been apologized to by more people than I knew were employed above me for the threats on my job and assured that my position is secure for as long as I want it. With how long they've been threatening me, this makes no sense.

I think you had something to do with this. I don't believe it when they say you're dead.

Talk to me, kid.

-Dr. Haley Kartwright, PhD

[ Subject] Re: Are you Dead?  
From: "AssMaster9001"  
To: "DocKartwright"

Do you remember that one time you shot me, but there was another me who was perfectly fine?

Duplication is a thing that happens. I don't know what happened to the other me, but I'm guessing she hammered out a deal.

This means I won.

Being dead wasn't part of the plan, though. The other me must have realized that two of us existing in the same timeline was a bad idea, that she didn't have a reality to go back to, and got someone to kill her. It is a handy way to keep future administrations from opening the search back up again; that's for sure.

… which means I'm going to have nightmares about it. Yay.

So, when are you coming to South Park?

[insert witty signature here]

[ Subject ] Re: Re: Are you Dead?  
From: "DocKartwright"  
To: "AssMaster9001"

Probably in a month or two. I've been on extended leave here, what with getting SUMMONED TO THE WHITEHOUSE on your behalf. I live in Atlanta, y'know? I have a cat who hasn't seen me in weeks, and a cat-sitter who's getting really sick of me extending how long she needs to look after the rascal.

Wait, I just realized this- with the whole time-duplicate thing- this is going to be the first time I've met you in this specific flesh. Because the last time we met face-to-face... I shot you. And kinda buried you in the woods.

Wait a minute, is that body still out there? What if someone finds it? Are you gonna take care of that if that happens?

Fuck me this is confusing.

-Dr. Haley Kartwright, PhD

[ Subject] Re: Re: Re: Are you Dead?  
From: "AssMaster9001"  
To: "DocKartwright"

To be entirely fair, I don't ACTUALLY remember meeting you. It's stuff I've pieced together from nocturnal experiences and senses of de'ja'vu that I log down to try and create cohesive records of collapsed timelines. I have no idea how it works, but the point is that I may not immediately recognize your face, since dreams aren't very good at faces. Or, at least, mine aren't... and most of my dreams concerning that timeline have been pretty obsessive about the whole DYING thing.

Interesting thing about the body- the last time I went to find it [I had a friend who was gonna help me burn it], it appeared that local wildlife had dug it up. And since we've had no occurrences of zombie bears, I'm going to assume nature took its course with minimal consequences. Besides, the police out here don't do SHIT unless someone is hounding them.

Holy shit, though. This means it's over. No more spying. No more kidnapping attempts. No more bullshit with always looking over my shoulder for some government agency whose trying to ruin my life for their own gain.

… I don't know how to feel about this. I don't think I was prepared to win.

[insert witty signature here]

[ Subject ] Re: Re: Re: Re: Are you Dead?  
From: "DocKartwright"  
To: "AssMaster9001"

Well, if you were a little older I'd tell you to go and get fucked up with some friends.

Y'know what, you have super powers, and have gone through some shit.

GO GET FUCKED UP WITH SOME FRIENDS. WHY THE HELL NOT? YOU'VE BEEN DECLARED DEAD. GO NUTS. ENJOY SOME TIME WITH PEOPLE BEARING YOUR PREFERRED GENITALS.

-Dr. Haley Kartwright, PhD

[ Subject] Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Are you Dead?  
From: "AssMaster9001"  
To: "DocKartwright"

Haha,

That's tomorrow night

And I like all naughty bits

;3

[insert witty signature here]

* * *

" _What the fuck does it mean, 'held in trust'?!"_

There was an inevitable fact that any party at which Eric Cartman was present would eventually be centered around him. It was his gravitational pull, so to speak, as well as his utter lack of an inside voice.

Bebe's party had begun with all the usual things a Halloween party tended to have; decorated pumpkins that had survived the night of Halloween were in the house and lit with little LED faux candles, candy which hadn't been given away by various families had been left as a free-for-all, other snacks had been made available on the saltier side of the spectrum, and there was an oddly authentic-looking cauldron containing green-colored punch that was distinctly sweet and lime flavored. Kids had arrived in costume, many of the girls choosing this party to roll out cuter things that just couldn't cut it in the mountain cold on Halloween night itself. There were plenty of _sexy devils, flirty school girls,_ and _risque animal costumes_ to go around, as well as more creative ventures; like Wendy and Stan arriving as Frankenstein's Monster and the Bride of Frankenstein, made not with boxed pieces that came from store-bought costume sets but an extensive effort of make-up and improvised props. Still others, like Kyle, simply came in what they'd worn when they'd gone trick-or-treating with their siblings.

Dee had decided to cop-out. She'd put on a Guy Fawkes mask, slipped on a long black coat, and decided that was good enough. It was an old costume, one she'd worn before, but _damn_ she liked that movie.

And fuck if she was just too worn out, even the day after, to put any more effort in than that. Without Butters around to put out the _just dudes hanging out_ dynamic, she and Kenny coming together in coordinated costumes might have clued more kids in to the fact that the were into each other. As such, Kenny had followed Kyle's lead and re-used his Cousin It costume, which already had several splashes of green punch causing the hairs of the wig to stick together in a mess.

With how many kids had participated in the fashion how, Bebe's house was _packed._ The majority had congregated in the living room, where the main lights were out and a number of colorful party lights had been put up instead. Orange jack-o-lantern lights on strings bordered the room along the top of the walls, and a small projector had been placed on the stairs, between the slats that supporting the railing, to cycle through various patterns of colorful light over what had effectively been made a dance floor. Wireless speakers were connected to Bebe's phone, which she kept on her to keep control of the music as a prepared party playlist kept the energy up. Furniture had been cleared from the space, with the couch pushed all the way into the corner and the coffee table acting as a barrier between the living room and the kitchen, and also being the platform upon which all the foodstuffs were kept, as well as the punch cauldron and stacks of disposable plastic cups.

In the middle of all this, was Eric Cartman. He had dressed up as one of the things he found most terrifying; a hippie, including rose colored glasses and dread-locked wig, and insisting to everyone around him that his costume was _terrifying_ whenever asked about it. He'd been joined by Bebe, rocking a witch's costume that she had clearly made herself to be perfectly fitted to her person, with red detailing along the seams and an off-the-shoulder fit leading into long, billowing sleeves; topped with the classic pointed hat, and made-up with some A plus winged eyeliner and black lipstick that was _only_ okay around Halloween... unless you were Henrietta.

Considering Bebe had kept her distance from Cartman most of the night, her sudden rushing in to the middle of things got some attention from various people. Dee was among them, although she had effectively made herself a wallflower upon arrival; more _watching_ the party than participating in it. In her watching, she'd seen Kenny spike the punch with _something_ a few minutes ago, and she wondered if what was happening might have been an effect of that. Underage kids getting unexpectedly drunk often led to... _interesting_ behaviors.

Instead, Bebe had shown Cartman her phone. Cartman turned his head, read what she was showing him, and then suddenly crowed out the beginning of what sounded like one of his trademark tantrums.

Kyle, near by, entered into the space that was becoming a circle around Cartman and Bebe. "What's going on?"

"This- this fuckin' thing- it's a draft of the contract they want us to sign!" Cartman crowed, angerly indicating Bebe's phone. "It's says the money getting paid to us for the fashion line is gonna be _held in trust by our parents_ until we're of age- _the fuck does that mean?!"_

"Oh- it just means that you won't be able to access the money until you're legally an adult or responsible for yourself- I think it has something to do with not being allowed to pay kids below the legal working age directly, so the money is held in trust with their guardians until-"

" _THAT IS BULLCRAP! I have stuff I need that 1.1 Million dollars for **today!** I can't have my mam fuckin' holding the reigns on it!" _

"Would you rather get nothing at all?" Bebe pointed out. "That's what happens if you don't sign it- if you bail out, then _I_ get the full amount of the purchase."

"Can you believe he _actually_ negotiated the president all the way up to _5.5 million dollars?"_

Dee's head turned to find she'd been joined by the wall... by a stained tower of hair. Kenny, still hanging in there with the Cousin It costume, despite how messy it was getting. Both of his hands, gloved in black, were currently out of the cascade of hair to hold cups of punch; one for her and one for him. Immediately her attention shifted from legal bickering in the middle of the living room to him, taking the punch despite knowing full well what was in it. She was actually tempted to chug it down, Kartwright's suggestion still in her head that she should _go out and get fucked up with friends._

 _I'm not, actually. This is Cartman we're talking about. He's disturbingly good at that sort of thing._ She shrugged, sliding up her mask to give Kenny a lop-sided smile.

"You wanna... get a little distance from the party?" He suggested, his now empty hand rising up to part the curtain of fake hair and reveal the fact that he was in an well-worn white tank and patched jeans under his costume, his suggestion coming with a smile that showed his teeth had been dyed green by the punch.

Her eyes narrowed, but her smile spread. _You trying to find yourself a little action, buddy-boy? You didn't need to liquor up the party just for_ _ **that.**_

"Don't give me that look, _Bebe spiked it first-_ all the girls were in on it." He snickered- she noticed his smile was a lot wider than she usually saw in public, and it wasn't just for the lack of scarf or hood. He usually didn't smile with his teeth; whether that was because of a huge gap he had on the upper row, and because the lower row was all janky and his family didn't have the money to get them straightened, she did not know with any certainty. All she knew was that he seemed a bit... _looser_ than normal, and definitely feeling the festive energy of the room.

In a word, he was _buzzed._

Dee eyed her cup, wondering just how many people had dumped alcohol into the pot.

 _Fuck it._

Sugared-up lime was the first thing she tasted, but the lasting impression of the ambitious gulp she'd gone for was a sort of _tingling heat._ It made the back of her throat strangely numb, and she contended with a number of flavors she'd never really tasted before... all which which felt _abrasive_ and _weird,_ enough so that she had trouble swallowing, and had to cover her mouth after she did so, letting out a sharp exhale as a quiet exclamation once her body accepted the fluid as something acceptable to consume.

 _That was different._

Kenny started laughing, presumably at the look on her face. She glared at him, the hand that had been covering her mouth forming into a fist to give him a quick and playful whack to the shoulder.

"Dee?"

 _Oop, and we shift gears again._

Her head came back around, addressing the main body of the party and the fact that Bebe had left the argument in the middle. It appeared Cartman and Kyle were still arguing over the merits of Cartman's idea to get emancipated from his mother in order to take control of his trust account whilst other kids began to lose interest and go back to socializing and dancing to the background music.

Bebe, on the other hand, had arrived at this edge of the party with determination on her face.

"I know you clued Cartman in to the... _opportunity_ with the president." She said.

 _Oh shit._

All at once, Dee felt as if the party atmosphere had been cut off. Bebe said that she was going to want an explanation for what was going on, and she had come to collect. At the same time, Dee felt a faint warmth in her upper body that seemed to be spreading out from that weird tingling sensation she'd gotten off of her drink. It was pleasant, and for some reason Bebe didn't seem quite as intimidating as usual right now.

"He didn't want to tell me directly, but he eventually admitted that you wrote him a note that said that a buyer would be coming who wouldn't take no for an answer- and then the president... she wanted to talk to _you,_ too, and you walked out with her. And then there was that thing with the other government agent who did the kidnappings, that you _lied_ to me about. What did the president want with you? Why was a government agent after you? And... why did you get Ivanka Trump to buy my work by blowing it up on your Instagram?"

Dee couldn't help glancing to Kenny for support. Bebe was asking a lot of questions, none of which she had easy answers. Definitely not answers that could be conveyed in expressions.

" _Why don't you speak for yourself?"_ Bebe pressed further when Dee glanced away. "You sang at the Homecoming dance. Everyone knows you're _not_ mute."

"He doesn't know if he'll hurt you." Kenny responded, if only to put a stop to Bebe pressing the attack. She was insistent, and every question gave rise to tension in her tone. She could see stuff was going on, and she wanted the truth... and what Kenny said was exactly that.

" _Huh?_ What do you _mean?"_

Of course, she didn't get it.

"It's a _long_ story, Bebe, and it's Dee's decision if he wants you to know..." Kenny peered back over to Dee, who was uncertain. She felt like if anyone was next in line to know the long and short of her mute habits, it was _Butters,_ if only for what he'd gone through recently due to her shit. Bebe knowing before him felt unfair, particularly when he'd been doing so much for herself and Kenny as far as their relationship was concerned. She bit her lower lip as she considered whether or not it was right or safe.

After a few seconds, she decided with a sharp nod.

 _We need to get Wendy. Bebe might not believe us without one of the girls backing up the story._

* * *

The five of them had ended up in Bebe's basement room; that total including Bebe herself, Dee, Kenny, Wendy, and Stan... whom Wendy was keeping a close eye on to make sure he didn't go overboard on the spiked punch.

"Wait, wait, _wait,_ so he... has _legit_ super powers? He's not just _really_ popular on social media?" Bebe asked, pointing at Dee. She'd taken off her hat, and Kenny had since slipped off his [rather sticky] Cousin It wig. "And all those news stories where government agents had done something shady in South Park and gotten caught, those guys were always coming after _him,_ trying to _capture_ and _study_ him like some kind of... of... _freak of nature?"_

 _The pointing doesn't help with that feeling, Bebe._

"Yeah." Wendy nodded. "And the ability works _offline,_ too, to a certain extent. Dee is still getting ahold of it, how to target it's usage for his own advantage. That was the whole point of getting the president to come to South Park; he needed a chance to get her one-on-one and finally force her to stop chasing him and his family. Using your fashion show to get her to come was... convenient, but it wasn't malicious. He just wanted this to be _over_ so his family could live in peace."

"Wow... just... _wow."_

Bebe leaned back. Everyone had sat down in a circle on the floor, and Bebe had tucked her legs under herself, her hands resting on the floor to support her upper body as she relaxed her weight back, staring out into space for a few seconds. Upstairs, the music had gotten a little louder; she'd turned up the tunes before disappearing in hopes of keeping her other guests distracted.

"That's also why he doesn't talk aloud." Stan added. "He's talked like a regular kid in places he's lived before, and certain people have gotten _dangerously_ obsessive. Like... _going through his trash for belongings and breaking into his house_ obsessive."

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Bebe assured, though it might have just been an overload of information. She, too, had been through a decent amount in the past few days. " _Alright,_ last question."

"What is it?" Wendy asked, cocking her head curiously. They'd been down there for a while, explaining the majority of what Bebe wanted to know... though they left the time travel out of the equation. Dee liked to keep that facet of her strange existence under wraps when possible, and it wasn't relevant to the current conversation.

Bebe turned to look at Dee and Kenny where they sat side-by side. "How long have you two been _dating?"_

" _What?!"_ Stan crowed, sitting on Kenny's other side and jerking his head over to look first at his friend, and then across the circle at Bebe, who had asked this final question with as much severity as she'd asked all her other questions. "What are you talking about? They're not dating! Kenny likes boobs."

"You're blind." Bebe countered Stan flatly, returning her focus to Kenny and Dee. "I noticed it a week ago- you two have been _inseparable-_ both in school and out. I've seen you at the movies, hanging out at the park, all over town just walking together; sometimes Butters is with you. I asked him, but he wouldn't spill. Not even Stan and Kyle spend that much time together, and they've basically known each other since _birth."_

" _Bebe-"_ Wendy hissed. "It's supposed to be a _secret."_

"Wait, _wait-_ Wendy, you knew about this?" Stan demanded, his voice rising up a little more as Bebe's point was validated in an instant.

 _Clusterfucking lemmings rolling off a cliff, you gotta be kidding me._ Dee glared across to Wendy, who at once turned intensely red and offered up a green-tinted smile that attempted innocence after a slip of the tongue.

"I-I mean, it, uh, would be a secret... if... _ah, shit."_

" _I knew it!"_ Bebe cheered herself, leaning forward with a delighted grin.

Stan was giving some side-eye to his friend. "Kenny...?"

Kenny and Dee shared a glance. They were cornered. There really was no point in denying it. With a sigh, Kenny's head dropped dramatically towards his folded legs before he looked his friend in the eye and admitted. "We've been together for like a month or so, dude. Is that a problem?"

" _Problem?"_ Stan asked, eyebrows shooting up under his monster make-up. "Dude, I didn't- no, I didn't mean it like that- I just... it's a surprise _,_ y'know, _you've always been all about the titties."_

"You can't tell the other guys, Stan- Dee's not ready to be _out_ with the relationship just yet." Wendy cautioned, quickly cutting around any need for Kenny to explain his preferences in any explicit detail.

"What? But what about Kyle?" Stan countered. "I can't just _not tell_ Kyle; he'll find out anyway and get mad at me for keeping secrets!"

"Dee?"

All eyes turned back on Dee and Kenny as Wendy pointed out that it was _her_ voice that mattered most on whom her relationship status was outed to. Even Kenny himself, perfectly comfortable with people knowing, was looking at her for the last word on whether or not Kyle would be included in the circle of people who got to know about it.

… _y'all suck._

Her head dropped into her palm, letting out a defeated sigh before looking to Stan, giving him a nod of approval.

 _ **~Fin**_

* * *

 _::The Author's Corner::_

 _ **AND JUST LIKE THAT WE HAVE COMPLETED ANOTHER STORY.**_

This installment of NKS ended up _waaaaaaaaaaaay_ longer than intended, and man oh man am I glad to reach the end. As is customary, I'm gonna take a break for a week or so to get my notes in order for the next installment and probably art up some new stuff. Remember that if you're enjoying the stories to add me to your author alerts so you'll get pinged when the next installment comes out.

Speaking of, the next story is going to be entitled _**Mutual Cat Daddies.**_

Get excited!

 _ONWARDS!_

 _-Buttlord_


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